


The Spaces Between Us Hold All Our Secrets

by Ropewithnoanchor



Series: Spaces [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Canon Related, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Fluffy Ending, Gay, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Torture, Oral Sex, Paddling, Painplay, Panic Attacks, Spanking, Switching, Top Harry, Top Louis, Triggers, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ropewithnoanchor/pseuds/Ropewithnoanchor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is struggling with panic attacks brought on by being closeted, and he realizes that subspace brings him peace like nothing else can. So Harry must step up to the plate and take control of his usually dominant boyfriend.</p>
<p>[A relatively canon-compliant story of nights in hotels and bedrooms, starting in November 2014.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight Panic

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: this chapter contains descriptions of a panic attack.

****

**Sunday, November 16—Orlando, Florida, USA**

Harry sits on top of the bed at the Ritz Carlton, the room dark, gazing out the glass door that lead to the balcony. He can see Louis’s silhouette, hanging over the railing in a haze of smoke, the glowing end of a cigarette between his fingers. Cigarette butts litter the floor of the balcony where Louis has carelessly ground them out with the heel of his sneaker. Harry can't count them, but he's pretty sure the older boy is on his second pack of the day.

He fidgets a little in the duvet, messing up the perfectly made hotel bed, fighting to resist the urge to go try and comfort Louis again. The last time he’d gone out there, a half an hour ago, Louis’s glare had been so shocking that it had tied Harry’s stomach into knots and sent him retreating back inside. Harry isn't the type to suffer alone and in silence, but Louis is, and he has to respect that. It is so hard, though, when all he wants to do is wrap the smaller boy up in his arms and kiss it better.

Fishing his phone out his pocket, Harry bites hip lip and opens up Tumblr. He can get the surface bull shit off of Twitter fast enough, but he knows Tumblr has the deep musings of their older, smarter fans, and he's addicted to reading them. It never fails to amaze him how much they put together, all the tiny details they notice, and the amount of secrets they are unknowingly _right_ about. He sometimes sends the best blogs anonymous asks, confirming suspicions or steering them in the right direction. He can't help it. It gives him the tiniest sense of the power, something management constantly takes away from him.

He has just started reading an old post about his and Louis’s tattoos, one he frequently revisits when he needs comfort, when the slider is suddenly thrown open. He drops the phone and leaps to his feet but doesn't move any closer to Louis, scared of setting him off again. The room fills with the scent of cigarettes as Louis slams the door closed and turns to Harry. His eyes are hard and narrowed, but also teary and bloodshot. Harry bites down hard on his lip again, fighting the urge to cry himself. Seeing Louis hurting causes him physical pain as well. It has for four years.

Wordlessly, Louis reaches out and takes Harry’s wrist, guiding him back onto the bed. Harry climbs on top of the covers again, and Louis follows, sliding in behind Harry and coaxing him to lie down. He presses himself up fiercely against Harry from behind, wrapping his arm tightly around the boy’s chest and grasping the collar of his shirt in his shaking fist. Their legs tangle, Louis’s on top and hooked over Harry’s so they are touching from head to toe.

Harry can feel Louis breathing raggedly against the back of his neck. He wants to say something so badly, but Louis won't talk until he's ready, so it's useless. Instead, he places his hand gently over Louis’s against his chest, rubbing his thumb along it soothingly.

Harry drifts off into an uneasy sleep, only waking an hour or so later when he feels something wet against his upper back. “Lou,” he whispers, realizing the boy is crying into his skin. Louis is still clinging to him just as tightly, but he's shaking with restrained sobs now.

Harry tries to roll over, but Louis doesn't let him move. “Please, love,” Harry begs. He turns his head but Louis only buries his face in the pillow. “You… You can let me see you cry. It’s not a weakness…”

He trails off with a sigh. Louis takes a deep, shuddering breath that Harry can feel in his spine. “I’m fine,” Louis says finally, his voice low and hoarse from too many cigarettes and trying not to cry. It's all Harry can do not to roll his eyes.

“No, you’re not…” Harry says gently. He feels Louis press his lips to Harry’s neck and nuzzle his curls.

“I miss Zayn,” Louis finally confesses. Harry keeps quiet, letting Louis get it out. “And now Paul’s gone. Paul, god, I can’t believe this.” He chokes on another sob, trying to muffle it in Harry’s shoulder. “Now… Now they…”

Harry finally manages to flip over so he can face Louis, taking in his pale skin, swollen eyes, and tearstained cheekbones, stricken by how small he looks all of a sudden. He runs his fingers through the boy’s feathery soft hair, leaning in to kiss the tears away. “What is it?” he prods gently.

A fresh wave of tears fall when Louis grimaces, struggling to get the words out. “They wanted t-to fly her out,” he whispers. “Take s-some of the heat of Zayn. Happy pictures on the rides, the usual shit.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, swallowing repeatedly against the sudden urge to vomit. He rubs his hand up and down Louis’s arm, the skin cold in the hotel room’s air conditioning.

“But I said _no_ ,” Louis chokes out, practically wailing on the last word. He drags his hands down his face so violently it leaves a bright red mark on his cheek. “I f-finally put my foot down and said no, I-I didn’t want her here, while my family’s all here, while we’re being filmed for TV, fans everywhere, a-and just, _no_.”

Harry grabs Louis’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his face and clutching them between their bodies instead. Louis can’t seem to hold the tears back anymore now that he’s started talking, and they pour down his reddened cheeks faster than Harry can kiss them away.

“Now I-I’m fucking _terrified_ of what they’re gonna do,” he sobs. “They’re so mad, Haz. Last time I pissed them off with that _stupid_ t-shirt, and then they sent out those tweets… Everyone’s g-gonna hate me even more—”

Harry ducks down and catches Louis’s lips with his own, silencing him. “No, babe,” he says, his voice low and firm. “Nobody hates you. Don’t say that.” He puts a hand on the back of Louis’s head and presses him against his chest, feeling the tears soaking the front of his shirt.

It kills him to see Louis like this. This is the side of Louis that almost no one gets to see, especially not the media and the fandom. Louis only ever lets them see strong Louis, snarky Louis, Louis the leader who doesn’t take shit from anyone. But Harry gets to see this broken side of Louis, the side that cares too much about what people think, that’s tied up in complicated contracts and fake relationships and lies piled on lies.

Louis cries into Harry’s chest for a few more minutes before his sobs finally fade off into hiccups. Harry holds him close and strokes his hair, staying quiet and just letting Louis cry himself out. They’d spent nine hours on a plane, gone back five time zones, and are due at sound check at five thirty in the morning. It’s only a little after ten, but Harry feels the exhaustion in his bones. He can only imagine how tired Louis feels now.

“Let’s wash up for bed,” Harry whispers when Louis’s finally gone quiet, helping the boy sit up. They break away to change into pajamas and gather their things, meeting in the bathroom to wash their faces and brush their teeth in the fancy double sinks.

When they’re done, Harry kisses Louis deeply, glad to taste toothpaste instead of cigarette smoke. He holds him around the waist and tips his head down to press their foreheads together, gazing into his puffy eyes. “I love you,” he reminds him. “We all do.”

Louis takes a deep breath, struggling to hold Harry’s intense stare. “I love you too,” he breathes, reaching up to cup Harry’s cheeks. “You’re the best thing I have.”

One corner of Harry’s mouth tugs up in a crooked smile, and he kisses Louis again. When they break away, Harry leads them back into bed, getting under the plush comforters this time. He sets the alarm on his phone and then tosses it onto the bedside table before settling down, Louis immediately spooning him from behind. 

“Don’t think about them, love,” Harry whispers, pulling Louis’s arm tighter around him and intertwining their fingers. “Just sleep.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

Louis wakes up with such a deep gasp that it wakes Harry, too. Harry immediately turns over to find Louis ripping the covers off, shaking from head to toe and pale as a ghost, trying to stand up and whimpering. 

“Lou, you’re alright,” Harry says quickly, scrambling to get out of bed and follow Louis across the enormous suite. Louis’s stumbling like a newborn foal, clutching at furniture, still making pathetic sounds and struggling to breathe. Harry can physically feel his own heart breaking as he rushes to catch up with him.

“It’s just a panic attack, Lou, that’s all it is,” he says as calmly as he can, like he’s reading from a script. “It’ll pass, you know it will. Come on, get in the shower.”

He keeps the lights dimmed low in the bathroom and starts trying to pull off Louis’s pajamas. Louis’s eyes are wide and terrified, every muscle in his body clenched tight and practically vibrating. Harry can feel how fast the boy’s heart is beating when he pulls his shirt off. He has to hold onto Louis’s arms to keep him from clawing at his own red-hot skin.

When Louis’s finally naked, Harry guides him into the shower. He stands at the door of the shower and turns the tap to let the freezing cold water hit Louis, watching the other boy carefully. Louis’s shaking increases from the extreme temperature, but after a few minutes, the crazed look in his eyes starts to fade and his wheezing slows to normal breaths. 

His chin drops to his chest with a heartbreaking sob, and Harry shuts the water off.

“Come here, love,” he murmurs, wrapping one of the hotel’s giant fluffy white towels around Louis’s shivering body. He rubs him down a little before leading him out of the shower. 

Louis’s knees buckle as soon as they start to walk, and Harry carefully sinks down to the bathroom floor with him. Louis’s arms are pinned to his sides with the towel, and Harry settles him down between his legs and holds him tight to his chest. He peppers Louis’s neck and jaw with kisses, the damp skin freezing cold beneath his lips. “You’re alright,” he keeps whispering over and over. 

“Hate it,” Louis whispers, shuddering against Harry, tucking his head under Harry’s chin.

“I know.” Harry rubs Louis’s arm over the towel. 

“M’so tired.” 

“I know.”

 - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry wakes up at the sound of his phone, distantly ringing in the other room. It takes him a minute to realize where he is. He’s sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against the corner of the wall and the bathtub, with Louis wrapped in a towel and curled up against his chest.

Memories of the night before come rushing back to him, and he bites back a groan. Louis had been struggling with midnight panic attacks for a while now, and after yesterday, they should’ve anticipated it. It had taken them months of internet research and professional help to find methods to calm him down, and the freezing shower seems to be the most effective. But falling asleep on the bathroom floor wasn’t the greatest idea.

“Babe,” he murmurs, shifting stiffly under Louis. “Louis. We have to get up.”

Louis slowly opens his eyes, still a little swollen from crying. He looks around, trying to figure out where they are. “What… Oh.”

They disentangle and stand up, stretching uncomfortably. Harry rubs his sore neck as he walks into the bedroom to shut off his phone and turn on a few lamps, squinting in the light. It’s four thirty in the morning and still pitch black outside.

When he goes back into the bathroom, Louis is back in the shower, except this time the water is hot and the room is filled with steam. Harry strips off his pajamas and gets into the giant tiled shower with him, groaning when the spray hits his stiff muscles.

“I’m sorry, Haz,” Louis says miserably, reaching up to massage Harry’s back and shoulders with body wash.

“Don’t be,” Harry replies firmly, but he does nothing to stop the glorious impromptu massage. “Fuck me, it’s early.”

“It’s nine thirty in London,” Louis offers, and Harry can’t help but smile a little. “For all the fans, it’s _actually_ four thirty.”

“Wonder how many people will show up,” Harry muses as he regretfully ends the massage so he can wash his hair.

They continue the small talk as they both wash up. Some early mornings like this, they’d rile each other up by fooling around, get their blood pumping and their energy flowing with a few orgasms, but neither of them makes a move this time. They’re both at an unreachable level of exhaustion that goes without saying.

Eventually, they force themselves out of the warm shower to get dressed. Harry blindly grabs whatever’s black in his suitcase, knowing they’ll get outfitted properly later, and manages to put together a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. He pulls his wet hair back into a bun, knowing it’ll help it dry into nice curls for later. Louis still feels cold from his freezing midnight shower, so he puts on joggers, a track jacket, and even a knitted beanie.

It’s a little after five o’clock when they’re both ready, Louis grumbling about the tea selection in the hotel room and already texting someone to meet him with a proper brew. Their eyes don’t meet and they don’t touch again, both carefully putting on their masks and getting ready to face the day, the fans, the media.


	2. Midnight Interruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so glad people liked the first chapter. I promised this would get smuttier, and indeed it did. It also took the aforementioned "kinky twist," so hang on tight.

****

**Wednesday, November 19—Los Angeles, California, USA**

They fly to Los Angeles after Orlando, and Harry’s happy to be in the only American city that feels like home. He owns properties here, multiple, but he joins Louis at his hotel. If god forbid they’re photographed, it’s easier to explain Harry being at a hotel than Louis being at a private residence. Or so management tells them.

He can immediately sense that Louis’s in a restless mood. He’s been on edge since the Eleanor incident in Orlando, and Los Angeles is always especially hard to travel around (does anyone there _not_ own a telephoto lens?), and it makes Louis feel trapped. Not being allowed to go to Harry’s house together doesn’t help. 

Harry’s jolted out of his thoughts by the slam of the minibar door closing. Louis has a cigarette tucked behind his ear while he unscrews the top of a cheap, tiny bottle of wine. Harry’s thankful for its size—wine-drunk Louis can get messy.

“Wish we were at yours,” Louis says as he joins Harry on the couch. Harry turns the volume on the television down and turns to him.

“Me too,” he replies, tugging the bottle out of Louis’s hand to take a sip. He grimaces at the taste. “At least your family came with, though, right?” 

Louis ignores him. “So sick of hotel rooms,” he mumbles, tipping the bottle back and finishing it without letting Harry get another sip. The cigarette falls from his ear and disappears into the couch cushions. Before Harry can snuggle up to him, he stands again, investigating the minibar further. “And _so_ sick of tiny bottles of liquor.”

Harry rubs a finger subconsciously over his new “You Booze You Lose” tattoo in the crook of his arm. He has a feeling he’s going to be the one losing tonight, not Louis.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you mix them, love,” Harry says gently. “We have Jimmy Kimmel _and_ Ellen tomorrow, don’t want a hangover, right?”

Louis shoots him a look over his shoulder and Harry immediately quiets. He hates when Louis tries to self-medicate with alcohol, trying to get drunk so he can sleep through the night and not wake up with panic attacks. Harry understands it, of course he does, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“We could fool around,” he offers hopefully. Maybe the promise of sex will get Louis to stop drinking.

Louis stands up, tossing back a nip of whiskey in one swallow. He throws the empty bottle onto the carpet and glances at the minibar again. 

“Please, Lou,” Harry tries again, sliding off the couch and settling on his knees, determined to get Louis away from the damn refrigerator. “Come here. I’ll blow you.”

Louis doesn’t move for a moment, but then a smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. Harry sighs in relief as Louis drops down onto the couch and spreads his legs for Harry to crawl between.

Louis unbuttons his skintight black jeans and peels them and his briefs down a bit so his soft cock is released. Harry immediately moves in, ducking his head down and bracing his hands on Louis’s hips.

“No,” Louis barks, making Harry jump. He gazes up at him wide-eyed, mouth inches away from his dick. “Hands behind your back."

Biting his lip, Harry removes his hands from Louis’s hips and clasps them behind his back. Louis likes him like this, has him assume the position so much that Harry’s started subconsciously doing it in public, especially during red carpet events. No one seems to think anything of it, so far, and doing it around Louis and in front of cameras gives him some sort of strange comfort.

He leans his head back in and starts running his tongue up and down Louis’s length, feeling it harden steadily under his mouth. Louis reaches down and pushes Harry’s curls out of his face, gently at first, but then taking fistfuls of his hair once he’s fully erect and forcing Harry’s lips where he wants them. Harry doesn’t complain, keeping his arms locked behind him and allowing Louis to take complete control.

“All the way down,” he hears Louis grunt above him, and he forces himself to relax his throat as Louis’s hands push his head down. Harry’s mind fills with static as his mouth is stuffed completely full of Louis’s cock, and Louis is the only thing he can taste, smell, see, and hear. He lives for this feeling.

After a few moments, Louis guides him back up, letting Harry take a gasping breath before forcing him back down. Louis wants to throw his head back and let his eyes close with how good it feels, but he forces himself to watch, the sight of Harry’s sinfully full, dark lips wrapped around his cock enough to make him come right there. He has to violently yank Harry’s hair to get him to pull off before he shoots down his throat.

Harry sits back on his heels, breathing hard and wiping the spit off his mouth and chin. He’s hard—Louis treating him like this always gets him hot—but he doesn’t do anything about it. Instead, he lowers his head back down, latching onto Louis’s slick, swollen head and sucking gently.

“No, Harry,” Louis chokes out, digging his fingers into the couch cushions as he tries not to come. When Harry continues, Louis’s voice gets angrier. “I said _no_!" 

Harry stops sucking, looking up playfully at Louis as he sticks out his tongue and gently licks the sensitive V on the underside of Louis’s cock.

Louis grabs Harry’s hair again, pulling his head backward and then using his other hand to slap him swiftly across the face. The sound is more startling than the pain, but Harry’s eyes fill with hot tears.

“Don’t take more than I give you, slut,” Louis growls, and Harry knows they’ve officially slipped into their roles.

Harry shrinks away, dropping his head and lowering his gaze. Louis stands up, his erection shining with spit, and he pulls his shoes, jeans, and briefs off, tossing them to the side. After a moment’s hesitation, he shucks his shirt so he’s completely naked before settling back down on the couch. 

“Strip for me,” Louis commands, opening a nip of vodka now and taking a swig. Harry has no idea where it came from, and he can’t hide his shock even as he starts undressing.

“No, no, no.” Louis waves the half-empty nip around a little. “Give me a show.”

Harry feels heat rising in his face as Louis smirks at him. He hates doing these little strip teases, and Louis knows this, so he takes great pleasure in embarrassing Harry. Determinedly not making eye contact, Harry staggers to his feet and starts to slowly unbuckle his belt, swaying his hips as he slides it out of the loops, dangling it tantalizingly in front of Louis before letting it drop in the other boy’s lap. He turns around to ease his jeans down, slowly exposing the swell of his ass, bending over to pull them off his ankles. He can hear the slick sound of Louis jerking himself off behind him.

Turning around so Louis can see for the first time how hard he is, Harry undoes the buttons on his shirt one by one, and then lets it slide off his shoulders and onto the ground. Finally fully naked and his cheeks still burning red, Harry clasps his arms behind him and gets back down on his knees between Louis’s legs.

“Not much of a stripper, love,” Louis teases, still stroking his own cock but reaching with his free hand to rub the pad of his thumb over Harry’s hot cheek. “But no need to be ashamed, hm? Just need more practice.”

Louis bends over and captures Harry’s mouth in a kiss, squeezing his jaw in his hand until it opens so he can force his tongue inside. This is praise, and Harry recognizes it, so he kisses back eagerly. He can taste cigarettes, wine, whiskey, and vodka in Louis’s mouth, and he’s amazed Louis isn’t sick from the combination. 

Harry’s starting to hope that, above all, if he lets Louis use him hard tonight the boy will expend all his energy and be able to get a good night’s sleep. Maybe the little bit of alcohol will help, but he needs to try and stop Louis from drinking anymore. All he knows is, he’s going to have to piss Louis off to get him to fully commit. And it’s going to hurt. 

If there’s anything Louis hates, it’s Harry being greedy, so he focuses his plan around that. Moving quickly before he loses his nerve, Harry climbs onto Louis’s lap, straddling him with his long legs and rubbing their erections together. He wraps his arms around Louis’s neck and starts showering his throat with kisses, dragging his teeth along his prominent collarbone. “Fuck me, baby,” he whispers in Louis’s ear, grinding his hips down. “We didn’t fuck in Florida, I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me.”

Louis’s eyes are huge as he realizes what’s happening, the little bit of alcohol in his system slowing down his reactions. He grabs Harry by the back of the neck and wrenches him backward, digging his fingers into the pressure points there. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls, throwing Harry bodily onto the floor. He stands up, rubbing a hand over his collar where Harry’s left long, red marks. “Didn’t I just tell you not to take more than I give you?”

Harry knows he might be pushing it too far, but he immediately gets up on his knees and plasters himself to Louis’s legs, mouthing at his cock and thighs. “Come on, baby,” he begs. “I’ll open myself up for you, and then I’ll ride you. You won’t have to do anything.”

Louis almost seems too shocked to move, but then he’s grabbing a handful of Harry’s hair and dragging him toward the bed. Harry shrieks with pain, desperately trying to crawl alongside Louis and alleviate the pressure on his scalp, and by the time they reach the bed he has tears streaming down his face.

“Don’t fucking move,” Louis barks when he gets Harry face down on top of the duvet. Harry’s trembling, his cock still hard underneath him and his scalp burning, but he knows he’s carried out his plan successfully. He wipes his tears off on the pillow.

Louis comes back with the large black leather Tom Ford bag that houses their toys and various sex accouterments. He unzips it and considers his options. The hotel bed has an upholstered headboard and no footboard, so there’s no way to bind Harry to it. Instead, he pulls out two pairs of silver cuffs and uses them to attach Harry’s left wrist to his left ankle and his right wrist to his right ankle, effectively forcing him to stay face down, ass up on the mattress.

Harry’s breathing is ragged and his heart is hammering, but his erection stays strong as ever. Getting tied up always sends his endorphins through the roof, and he loves being at Louis’s mercy. The sound of the minibar opening and closing breaks him out of his headspace though, and he groans. 

“Lou, please,” he whines, trying to look over his shoulder. “No more drinks, baby, please.”

Harry cries out in surprise when Louis’s hand suddenly comes down stingingly hard on his exposed ass. He doesn’t realize what’s happening until a red ball is jammed between his teeth and the straps buckled behind his head. He pleads into the gag, words muffled beyond recognition as Louis finishes off another nip. 

“Why don’t you hold this for me, slut,” Louis muses, pouring some lube on a fourth, unopened nip of alcohol. “Warm it up a little.” 

He presses the blunt bottom of the bottle to Harry’s hole and forces it in, making sure the neck of it sticks out so he can grab it easily. Harry gasps in pain around the ball in his mouth, thankful the bottle is small but still adjusting to the intrusion.

“Don’t push it out,” Louis warns as he starts rubbing his hands over Harry’s ass. Usually this is how Louis preps him for a spanking, and Harry lets out a stifled sob. 

Suddenly, Louis’s phone starts ringing loudly from across the room, where it’s buried in his discarded pants. He ignores it, continuing to squeeze and knead Harry’s ass to get it ready, but once the ringing stops it starts up again ten seconds later. He swears, glancing at the tiny bottle sticking out of Harry’s ass to make sure it hasn’t moved in either direction before he jumps off the bed to retrieve the phone.

“Hello?” he snaps. “Oh, mum. What’s wrong?” 

Harry tries to listen to Louis’s conversation over his own panting and the roaring of blood in his ears, but he doesn’t make out much. He’s surprised when he feels Louis tug the nip from his hole and start unlocking the handcuffs. The gag comes off last.

“Ernest is sick,” Louis says, not helping Harry as the boy sits up shakily. “I have to help her out.” 

Harry nods, sliding off the bed. Still, his erection hasn’t wavered. “I’ll come with you.”

Louis immediately shakes his head, pulling fresh joggers and a sweatshirt out of his suitcase and getting dressed. “Can’t risk you getting sick, too,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. Harry slumps back onto the bed, knowing Louis is right.

“Jack off, though,” Louis sighs without much interest as he slips out the door.

Harry frowns, suddenly exhausted. He palms his dick but then lets it go, the mood completely killed now. He didn’t get fucked—he didn’t even come—but at least Louis is away from the alcohol. He grabs the nip of gin that Louis had so thoughtfully used his ass to warm up and tosses it in the trash. Inspired, he grabs all of the alcohol in the minibar and takes it into the bathroom, pouring the little bottles one by one down the sink.

Harry brushes his teeth, turns off all the lights, and climbs into bed. It’s late and they have two television shows to record the next day so he knows he should sleep, but it’s too damn hard without Louis spooning him. He tosses and turns for hours, only in a light doze when Louis slides into bed with him at nearly two o’clock. 

“Everything alright?” Harry whispers as Louis assumes his position behind him. Harry clutches one of Louis’s hands against his chest, tangling their fingers.

He can feel Louis nod against him. “Bad cough. She’s had like, a hundred babies, but still gets nervous when they’re sick. I got the hotel to send up medicine, and he finally fell asleep with that.”

Harry makes a sleepy noise of approval. It always makes his heart swell when Louis takes care of his family. He smiles when Louis kisses the back of his neck.

“Sorry we didn’t get to finish,” he murmurs. “Another night.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

Louis wakes up only a half hour later, sitting up in bed with a groan. His stomach immediately heaves, and he quickly makes a dash for the bathroom, only collapsing in front of the toilet just in time. The wine, whiskey, vodka, and lord knows what else he drank all find their way back up, his muscles convulsing painfully.

Harry had thought it was another panic attack, surprised to hear the sound of Louis getting sick in the bathroom. Rubbing his eyes, he grabs a bottle of water—one of the only things left—from the minibar and pads over to the bathroom.

It's hard to feel as bad for Louis this time. Harry's heart breaks for the boy when it's a panic attack, but this time the midnight interruption is his own fault. Harry can't hold him against it though, knowing Louis had only drank to try and make himself feel better. He wets a washcloth and drops down on the floor beside him, gently wiping his forehead.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, reaching up to flush the toilet for him. Louis coughs and groans, his head resting pathetically against the seat.

"Go back to bed, Haz," he manages, his voice hoarse and strained.

Harry shushes him, lifting up the bottle of water. "Just a little, babe? It'll make you feel better."

Louis grimaces, but he forces himself to sit up and take the bottle in his trembling hand. Harry helps him uncap it and guides it to his mouth, but Louis only manages to take two sips before he's pushing it away. "No more," he begs, his voice weak.

Harry stays with him like that for an hour or so, until Louis's certain he's not going to be sick anymore and feels strong enough to stand up. Leaning heavily on Harry, Louis walks back to bed and drops into it with a sad noise. This time, Harry spoons Louis from behind, stroking soothing fingers up and down his side until they both fall asleep again.


	3. Midnight Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to let you all know that I fucking love Louis. I have no idea why I'm making him so unlikeable in this story. It's JUST a story!

****

**Tuesday, November 25—Sydney, Australia**

Harry heads back to their hotel room alone after the ARIAs. Well, not technically alone. Some lady he only half recognizes from management is tailing him, trying to get him to swallow a handful of pills and lie down so they can put eardrops in. He keeps trying to politely wave them off, but his ear has been bothering him all day after the fifteen-hour flight from Los Angeles to Australia, and he’s too tired to put up much of a fight.

He hates to do it, but he pulls out his phone and texts Louis.

_Please come back? Don’t feel well and they won’t leave me alone._

Louis shows up faster than Harry thought possible, almost immediately—he must have been in one of the other boys’ rooms—and bursts through the door, immediately getting in the management person’s face.

“Leave him the fuck alone, won’t you?” Louis yells, and Harry cringes at the noise. “Can’t you see he’s sick?”

“Yes!” the woman says exasperatedly, holding up the three prescription bottles. “I’m just trying to get him to take these, and he won’t!”

Louis grabs the bottles out of her hands, squinting at the labels. Painkillers, strong ones, along with a hefty dose of antibiotics and eardrops. He glances over at Harry, who’s sitting miserably on the edge of the bed with a hand over his ear.

“I’ll get him to take them,” Louis says firmly. “Now get out.” 

The woman seems conflicted, looking back and forth from Louis to Harry, before sighing and shaking her head. “You better,” she warns, before leaving the room. 

Once the door closes, Louis walks over to the bed and sits down next to Harry, who immediately drops his head onto Louis’s shoulder. “Hurts,” Harry mumbles.

“I know, love,” Louis coos. He’s used to Harry regressing into a little kid when he gets sick by now, and he still finds it somewhat endearing. He takes out his phone and sends his mom a quick text. 

 _Harry’s got a bad ear infection. They gave him PKs, antibiotics, and drops. Anything else I can do?_

He has no idea what time it is in England, but she texts him back almost immediately. 

 _Poor thing. Warm compress, five minutes at a time x_

Louis reads it quickly before tossing his phone onto the bed. “You have to take the medicine,” he says, trying to sound firm. “It’ll help with the pain. Then you’ll lie down and do the drops and a warm compress. Okay?”

Harry makes a face and pulls his head off Louis’s shoulder, eying the pill bottles warily. “They make me nauseous,” he whines. 

“Eat a little something first then,” Louis says, sliding off the bed and going over to the minibar. He doesn’t recognize most of the Australian labels, but he finds a pretty innocent looking bag of plain crisps. He sits next to Harry again and hands it to him, but Harry makes no move to open it. 

“Haz,” Louis sighs, taking the bag back and opening it. “Come on, love. Just a couple.” He fishes out a single crisp and holds it up to Harry’s mouth.

Harry looks tired and miserable and like he just might bite Louis’s hand off instead, but he finally opens his mouth and eats the crisp. Louis patiently feeds him more, one by one, until half the bag is gone. Then Harry pulls away with huff.

“Hurts to chew,” he mutters, cupping his ear again.

“I know.” Louis presses a tiny kiss to Harry’s lips before tossing the crisps bag onto the bedside table. He gives Harry a bottle of water and reads the labels on the medicine, pouring one of the antibiotics and two of the painkillers out into Harry’s palm. Again, Harry doesn’t move.

“Please don’t make me make you,” Louis says softly, his tone warning. Harry pulls a face but tosses all three pills into his mouth and follows them with a swig of water. Louis kisses him again. “Good boy. Do you want to get undressed before you lie down?”

Harry nods silently, so Louis starts undressing him. Getting Harry’s black leather boots off is a pain in the ass, but the belt and skinny black pants come off easy enough. He slips the black blazer off Harry’s shoulders and then goes to work undoing the buttons on his shirt, finally untying the little scarf around his neck. 

“That’s McQueen,” Harry mutters when Louis tosses the scarf unceremoniously onto the floor. Louis can’t help but smile, scooping up all the clothes and depositing them next to Harry’s suitcase.

“You want pajamas?” he asks, holding up a few selections from the suitcase, but Harry just shakes his head, happy to stay in his briefs. 

Louis quickly strips down to his briefs, too, but he’s chilly in the hotel room air conditioning and he pulls on a plain white t-shirt. He goes in the bathroom and soaks a washcloth with hot water in the sink. By the time he’s done, Harry has gotten into bed, the covers pulled up over his head.

“Haz,” Louis says exasperatedly, tugging the duvet down. “You still have to do the ear drops, come on.” He reads the instructions on the bottle carefully and fills the dropper with liquid. “Just stay still…” He leans over Harry and does as the instructions say, pulling his ear up and back to open the canal and depositing three drops in. 

Harry’s making pathetic noises of discomfort as Louis presses his ear closed, and he tries to bat at Louis’s hand. Louis has to grab his wrist with his free hand to stop him. “Just a few minutes, babe,” he murmurs. “Budge over.”

Harry moves over enough for Louis to slide into bed behind him, Louis still holding his ear closed. Louis kisses and nips him along his neck and shoulders, trying to distract him from the pain. He feels goose bumps break out over Harry’s skin under his lips. After a few minutes, Louis grabs the wet washcloth from the bedside table, pleased to find it still quite warm, and gently presses it over Harry’s ear. Harry whimpers, but he doesn’t try to pull it away.

For the next hour, Louis holds the warm compress there for five minutes at a time, getting up and rewetting it with hot water, over and over again until Harry falls asleep.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Louis’s jolted awake by the sound of something smashing into their hotel room door, followed by raucous laughter. Anger floods through him as Harry makes a soft, unhappy noise, and he carefully slips out of bed. He peers through the peephole in the door just in time to see a football go flying past.

“Idiots,” he grumbles, glancing at Harry before slipping out the door.

Niall and Zayn are holding cans of beer and kicking a football back and forth down the hall, laughing every time it bounces off the walls like they’ve never seen anything so funny.

“Louis!” Zayn exclaims, kicking the ball in his direction. Louis stops it under his bare foot and picks it up, glaring at them.

“You bloody morons. Harry’s sick in there, trying to sleep!” He jerks his head back towards the door.

Zayn and Niall look appropriately guilty, but it doesn’t last. “Come on, Lou, pass it here,” Niall says, raising his arms and sloshing beer on the hallway carpet. 

Louis considers his options. Harry is pretty much unconscious from those painkillers, and Louis would much rather stay up until an obscene hour of the morning knocking back a few brews with Zayn and Niall and maybe playing a little FIFA. It would make his own attempts at sleep a lot easier later. 

He takes the ball and drops it, kicking it on its way down right into Niall’s hand. It hits the half empty beer can and sends it flying, beer spraying everywhere, soaking the blonde boy. Zayn can hardly stand he’s laughing so hard. 

“You fucker!” Niall yells, but he’s laughing too. He heads into his hotel room to change his shirt, and Louis and Zayn follow him. The Playstation that follows them wherever they go is already hooked up to Niall’s television, and Zayn and Louis immediately hop on the couch and start playing while Niall changes.

“Got any of that incredible chest hair left, Ni?” Louis calls out teasingly, tapping away at his controller as his players run down the field.

“Not if you keep pulling it out every interview!” Niall shoots back, tugging a clean shirt over his head and grabbing three more beers before joining them on the couch.

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Louis’s not sure how it happens, but somehow they finish the entire box of thirty light beers, and he knows he’s personally responsible for most of the empties. When he tries to get up off the couch, the entire room spins, sending him stumbling back onto his ass. Niall cackles at him, Zayn already passed out on the opposite corner of the couch. 

“M’gonna check on Haz,” Louis slurs, trying to stand up again. “What time is it?”

Niall checks his phone. “Four thirty,” he says, and the way he says ‘thirty’ in his Irish accent makes Louis bark out a laugh, even though he’s heard it a million times. 

He tries to stand up, but the room starts doing that violent spinning thing again, so he gives up. Harry hasn’t texted or called him, so he must be fine. He starts up another game of FIFA with Niall, but before he can finish it, he’s slumped over on the couch, falling asleep with the controller still in his hand. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

A pounding on the door wakes Louis up the next morning. He groans, trying to figure out where he is and why his head hurts so much. His mouth feels uncomfortably dry, and he realizes he’s lying facedown on the floor. The pounding continues, so he forces himself up, groaning again when he discovers a Playstation controller pinned painfully underneath his hip. 

He glances around and see Niall and Zayn both still sleeping on the couch, somehow undisturbed by the horrible knocking currently sending waves of agony through Louis’s skull. The coffee table is covered in empty beer cans. How had he ended up on the floor? 

He finally gets to the door and throws it open without looking through the peephole first. He chokes on a gasp when he finds Harry on the other side, looking angrier than he’s ever seen him, a hand cupped over one of his ears. 

Harry takes in the scene behind Louis and his angry expression only deepens. “You fucking arse hole!” he screams, loud enough to rouse Zayn and Niall now. Louis takes a reflective step backward, wincing. “I woke up alone! I had no idea where you were!”

Zayn and Niall stay quiet, sitting up on the couch. Louis doesn’t know what to say. He had never meant to fall asleep in Niall’s room.

“I-I was gonna come back,” he tries weakly.

“But you fucking drank yourself into a coma instead!” Harry’s still screaming, and suddenly Liam appears behind him, wearing pajamas with his hair sticking up in every direction. He wraps his big arms around Harry gently, moving him back from the door and shooting Louis a glare. 

“Shh, Harry,” Liam murmurs as Harry crumples against him, still clutching his ear. “Let’s go back to your room, hm? Take your medicine.” 

“I can give him his medicine,” Louis interjects, reaching for Harry’s arm. Liam tugs him away.

“Clean yourself up, Louis,” Liam says, and Louis’s not quite sure what he’s referring to.


	4. Midnight Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really challenging to keep this somewhat canon compliant with their crazy promo schedule, but I'm really trying. Please excuse any liberties I've taken.

****

**Saturday, November 29—Los Angeles, Califonia, USA / London, England**  

Harry makes the Azoff’s drop him off at his own house, despite Jeff’s relentless pleas for Harry to spend the night at his place. He knows Harry’s been ignoring Louis after their fight in Sydney and doesn’t think staying alone in a half-furnished house is a good idea, but Harry just wants to wallow by himself.

He hasn’t even glanced at his phone since flying from Sydney to Los Angeles the day before, choosing to distract himself by filling a few pages in his new journal instead, even though the phone’s been buzzing nonstop in his back pocket. Unlocking the front door and disarming the burglar alarm, Harry moves through the dark house and into the kitchen to fix a cup of tea.

The cabinet is full of Yorkshire tea, Louis’s favorite, and Harry turns off the kettle before it’s finished and abandons the idea. He goes into his bedroom, the bed unmade from the night before and the contents of his suitcase spilling out all over the floor. It’s not like him to live in a mess like this, but he can’t bring himself to care. The framed photograph of him and Louis when they were in the X Factor house is facedown on the bedside table.

Stripping all his clothes off, Harry gets in bed naked and wraps up in the duvet, steeling himself to finally check his phone. He stares at the dark screen for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and unlocking it.

Deliberately ignoring the little red bubble on top of the messages icon that reads “42,” not ready to face those yet, Harry opens Tumblr instead. His eyes widen as he scrolls through, the same single image of Louis appearing again and again—with a new tattoo on his forearm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers to himself, looking around the pitch-black bedroom like someone might have heard him. He zooms in on the grainy picture, which seems to be a screenshot from one of their performances in Australia. He’d been trying so hard to ignore Louis after their fight that he hadn’t even noticed the new ink, despite Louis’s deliberate choice of short sleeves for that show.

It’s a fucking dagger. Right in the same place Harry has his rose. He glances down at his own arm just to make sure it’s still there.

When Harry had gotten his rose tattoo last September, he’d told Louis how all the blogs were hoping Louis would get a matching dagger to complete the classic nautical pairing. Louis had seemed intrigued by the idea, but the fear of repercussions from Modest had kept him from doing it. Until now, apparently. Because there is a giant fucking permanent dagger on his arm.

Still not bothering to check his texts, Harry pulls up the world clock app. It’s midnight in Los Angeles, so it’s eight in the morning in London. He’s not sure what time Louis, Liam, and Zayn landed, but he calls Louis anyway, drumming his fingers on his knee nervously as it rings.

“Haz,” Louis’s voice, rough with sleep, comes through the line. “Thank god. Are you okay?”

“Your tattoo,” Harry blurts out.

It’s quiet for a minute before Louis lets out a nervous laugh. “You’re just seeing that?”

Harry nods even though Louis can’t see him. His eyes prickle as they fill with tears, and he takes a shuddering breath, which Louis must hear.

“Love,” Louis sighs. “I wish you were here. I can’t sleep without you, Haz. Why’d you go to LA?” Harry can tell Louis’s exhausted, because it’s only when he’s too tired to keep his guard up that he’ll talk about feelings.

“When did you land?”

“I don’t know, only a few hours ago, I think. We had to take fucking pictures with those stalker fans before they let us go home.”

“Where are you?”

There’s a pause. “In our flat,” Louis confesses.

Harry’s chest aches. “The tattoo…”

He hears the rustle of sheets as Louis shifts in bed. Harry longs to be tangled up in those sheets beside him. “It’s for you, love,” Louis says. “It means… It means I’ll fight for you. Fight anything. I’ve wanted to get it since you showed me those blog posts. And I just felt so shitty after our fight. I never meant to leave you when you were sick.”

“I know,” Harry whispers, pressing his fingers against his eyelids to try and hold in the tears. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. I should’ve been next to you that whole night,” Louis says, and his face must be in the pillow because his voice is muffled. “I wish I was next to you right now.”

“Me too.” Harry takes another deep breath and curls up on his side, imaging the feeling of Louis’s body behind his. They’re literally on opposite sides of the world right now.

“I can’t sleep without you in my arms, Haz,” he says. “I hate this empty fucking bed.”

It’s so hard to get Louis to admit things like this, and Harry’s scared to say anything that’ll make it stop. “Me too,” he whispers again.

“Are you at Jeff’s?”

“No, I’m at mine. It’s… so big and empty.” _And everything reminds me of you_ , he wants to add.

“Are you in our bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you hard?”

Harry frowns, not sure he heard right.

“Because I am,” Louis adds almost wistfully. “Thinking about you, wishing you were here.”

Harry laughs, because it’s so like Louis to take an emotional moment and turn it on its ass like this. “I miss you,” he says, his tone notably brighter. He turns the speaker on and drops the phone onto the mattress, rubbing his hands down his torso. “I can’t remember the last time we fucked.”

“I know,” Louis groans. “I’d kill to be inside you right now, babe.”

Harry lets out a soft whimper, picturing Louis on top of him, pinning him to the mattress, thrusting in and out of him with those strong thighs. Now he’s hard, too. He licks his palm before dropping it down to touch himself with teasing strokes.

“Open yourself up for me,” Louis’s voice begs through the speaker. “Do you still have that vibrator I bought you?”

“Of course,” Harry replies, his voice already thick with lust. He rolls over and pulls out a bottle of lubricant and the ridiculously fancy, ultra-quiet, platinum vibrator Louis bought him when he first purchased the house. Louis had even gone so far as to get “LT” engraved in script on the side. Harry loved it.

He can faintly hear the slick sounds of Louis jerking off. “Lube up your fingers,” Louis says, starting to sound more commanding than begging. Harry quickly complies. “Start with just one.”

Harry pours out some lube onto his fingers and settles onto his back, letting his knees fall open. He gently eases his index finger into his hole, working it in and out slowly.

Louis’s tinny voice from the phone speaker startles him. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back those sounds, Haz. Add another finger.”

Harry bites his lip, but he groans loud enough for Louis to hear him when he slips his middle finger in beside his first. Louis groans too as he forces himself to stroke slowly and keep his orgasm at bay.

“Good boy, my good boy,” Louis praises. “I wish those were my fingers inside you. How’s it feel?”

Harry groans again, dying to add a third finger but waiting for Louis to tell him it was okay. “Feels good,” he chokes out, thrusting the two digits faster now, trying to find his prostate. “But not as good as when you do it.”

All he hears through the phone for a few minutes are the occasional soft groans from Louis. Then finally, “Three fingers now.” Harry quickly complies, forcing his ring finger in alongside the other two, gasping at the tight fit. “Spread your fingers open, babe, make sure you’re ready to take me,” Louis adds, his voice so deep and slow. Harry does as he says, whining as he stretches himself wide, digging his heels into the mattress.

“You ready for me?” Louis finally asks. “You have the vibrator next to you?”

Harry nods but then remembers Louis can’t see him. “Yes, yes, I’m ready, I have it,” he gushes. His cock is so hard against his stomach now, a dull and relentless ache.

“Pour some lube on it, love,” Louis instructs. Harry does, dripping a bunch on the bed sheets in his eagerness to obey. “Now just rub the tip over your hole, babe, don’t put it in yet.”

Harry does as Louis says, teasing himself with the cold metal toy, gasping into the phone lying next to his head. “Please,” he begs. “Please, fuck me, Louis, _please_.”

“Alright,” Louis finally gives in, and Harry can hear the smile in his voice. “Slowly, slowly slide it inside you. Tell me how it feels.”

Holding his breath, Harry starts to push the vibrator inside him, forcing himself to do it slowly, moaning as it stretches him open. “You’re so big,” he whimpers, using his free hand to clumsily push his sweaty curls off his forehead. “Feel so good inside me.”

“You’re so tight, Haz. Is it all the way in?”

“Yes,” Harry whispers, holding just the last inch outside his body.

“Turn it on.”

Harry presses the button on the bottom of the toy, and it immediately starts to vibrate hard, sending delicious pulses deep inside him, making him cry out with pleasure. He wants to touch himself so badly, can see a bead of precome shining on his slit in the light of his phone, but he doesn’t dare do anything until Louis tells him to.

Louis lets his squirm for a few minutes before his voice comes through the speaker again. “Fuck yourself with it, babe.”

Harry gets a good grip on the base and begins to move the toy in and out of his hole, picking up speed as he gets more comfortable. The stretch and the vibrations coupled with Louis’s voice in his ear are too much, and his whimpers quickly start to sound more like sobs.

“Can I touch myself?” he begs, voice weak. “Please, please can I? You feel so good, Lou, please let me touch.”

“Bet you could come just from my cock,” Louis says, fully committed to playing out this fantasy. “Feel it against your spot, love?”

“Yes,” Harry hisses, his hand cramping with how fast he’s fucking himself with the vibrator now. “I-I just wanna touch…”

“Use your other hand to play with your nipples.”

Harry whines, glancing down at his cock again and fighting every urge not to stroke it, instead moving his hand up and finding a nipple. He has four to choose from, but the two main ones always feel the best to play with. He grabs the left one and pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, breathing hard into the phone as he rolls it and it hardens. It feels like it sends electricity straight down to his erection.

“Please,” he begs again, sounding completely debauched now. He’s moving the vibrator slower, rubbing it against his prostate as much as he can. The bead of precome becomes so large that it finally drips down and drizzles along his stomach.

“Do you want to come?” Louis asks so casually that Harry would strangle him if he were actually here.

He whimpers instead, pinching his nipples until they’re burning. “Please” seems to be the only word he knows anymore, so he keeps repeating it.

“You _have_ been good,” Louis continues, but his voice is sounding tighter as he nears his own orgasm. “Are you ready?”

Harry chokes out, “Please,” one more time.

“Alright, baby. Touch yourself. Come for me.”

Harry wastes no time letting go of his nipple and wrapping his hand around his cock. It’s so hot he’s surprised it doesn’t burn him. He uses the precome to slick his palm before starting to stroke himself hard and fast, his hips coming off the bed as he holds the vibrator deep inside him against his spot.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Lou, I’m coming,” he cries out, clamping his teeth down hard on his lower lip as his orgasm tears through him, stars sparkling in front of his eyes as he shoots rope after rope of come all over his stomach. Louis’s groans fill the room, too, as he orgasms half a world away.

He slumps back down onto the mattress when it’s over, his chest still rising and falling rapidly with his panting, softly whimpering as he comes down from his high. He’d been too sick and then too miserable to jerk off; he can’t remember the last time he came, let alone the last time he came that hard. His thigh muscles keep twitching with aftershocks, and he forces himself to turn off the vibrator and pull it out of his clenching hole.

Louis’s breathless voice breaks him out of his daze. “You okay?”

He can’t help but huff out a laugh, staring at the amount of come on his torso. “I’m way more than okay,” he assures him, carefully reaching for a tissue to wipe himself off. “Holy shit, I came hard.”

“Me too.”

There’s an awkward silence, the first one of the night. Harry tosses the dirty tissue on the floor, immediately promising himself that he’ll clean the room up tomorrow morning.

“When are you coming home?” Louis finally asks.

“Um, I haven’t booked a flight yet,” Harry confesses, taking Louis off speakerphone so he can cradle the phone next to his ear. He feels closer that way. “I have to be back for those fashion awards though.”

“Oh.” Louis sounds disappointed in his answer, and Harry’s stomach twists with guilt.

“I can’t wait to see that tattoo,” he says, trying to sound cheerful. He hopes Louis smiles. “Get some sleep, boo. You must be exhausted.”

“I’ll be able to sleep better after that orgasm,” Louis notes. “But I still wish you were here.”

“Me too. Soon.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

After they hang up, and Louis falls asleep almost immediately.


	5. Midnight Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took longer than usual! I work weekends. I also need to slow down before I catch up with their actual schedule. Thank you so much for your views and comments and kudos <3

****

**Monday, December 1—London, England**

Louis can’t believe he’s doing it, but he’s spending the night on Tumblr. Harry gave him the login info for his secret account, and now Louis’s curled up on the couch in their London flat, holding a mug of tea and scrolling through it on his phone. 

He hadn’t gotten a chance to see Harry before the British Fashion Awards, so this is the best way to keep up with Harry’s evening there. The navy and red striped Lanvin suit is ridiculous, and Louis loves it. Only his Harry could pull off something like that. He reads a few hilariously serious posts about how wearing a Parisian designer to a British fashion event is a major faux pas, but Harry would never care about something like that. He wears whatever catches his eye unapologetically, and Louis admires him so much for it. 

Louis finishes the tea and lights up a cigarette, even though Harry will kill him later for smoking inside. He takes a deep drag and holds it in his lungs, the burn in his lungs helping take his mind off the ache in his heart. He misses his boy so much it hurts. He stops on a high quality picture of Harry’s face, thumbing over his dimples, imaging how good it’ll feel to actually touch him in a few hours. 

As the night progresses, the pictures change from Harry posing on the red carpet to Harry giving Emma Watson her award. Louis can’t help but admit that the two look stunning next to each other, a real British power couple, and he imagines how much easier Harry’s life would be if he just dated Emma instead. No more hiding, no more beards, no more confusing contractual obligations and limitations. It makes the ache in his chest feel more like a stabbing pain.

He sees a picture of Harry standing on top of a staircase with Kendall Jenner and Cara Delevingne, and it actually makes him laugh out loud. Both girls are looking at Harry like the sun still shines out of his ass despite how much bad press their relationships with him got. No one can stay mad at Harry, he knows this firsthand. 

The photos of Harry with Courtney Love and Lana Del Rey do not make Louis laugh, however. Courtney looks like a sloppy mess and is touching Harry enough to get Louis seeing green. She’s even got her claws in his hair in a few photos. Deciding he’s had enough of Tumblr for a lifetime, Louis exits the app and tosses his phone onto the table none too gently. 

He watches episodes of the X Factor on the DVR for a few hours, but the night feel like it crawls by. Finally, around midnight, his phone buzzes with a text from Harry. 

_Leaving now x_

Louis doesn’t appreciate the succinct message, and he tries to think up something suggestive he can send to rile Harry up a little for his ride home. He reaches into the drawer on the coffee table and pulls out the conveniently stored bottle of lubricant. He poses it on the table with his empty mug of tea and open box of cigarettes, snapping a picture of the three items. 

 _Been waiting for you all night xx_  

Now that the lube is out and Harry’s officially on his way, Louis can’t help but tug his joggers down and get a hand on himself. He uses a little lube to slick his cock, loving the wet feeling, and leans back against the arm of the couch to get comfortable. He keeps the strokes slow and long, squeezing and twisting as he goes, biting his lip as he pictures what he’s going to do to Harry when he walks in the door. 

He’s been keeping himself on edge for almost half an hour when he finally hears the key turn in the lock. Quickly pulling his joggers up, his erection tenting the front, he practically sprints to the front door as Harry opens it. 

There’s a pause, a moment where they both just take each other in, before Harry closes the door behind him and Louis slams him up against it in an embrace. He presses his head to Harry’s chest, listening to his heart pound in his ear, and he squeezes his arms around the boy’s waist as tight as he can. It feels so, so good to finally hold him that a sob tears from his throat. 

“Oh, love,” Harry coos, pressing his lips to the top of Louis’s head. 

Louis straightens up with a sniffle and a small laugh, smiling at Harry and wiping his eyes. “Just missed you so much,” he says. 

“I can see that,” Harry teases, dropping a hand to indicate the tent in Louis’s joggers. “I missed you, too.” 

“Get that fucking suit off, Haz,” Louis begs. “I haven’t touched you in so long, I can’t even remember how it feels.” 

Harry gives him a crooked smile and takes his hand. “Let’s go upstairs.” 

Louis sits on the edge bed to watch Harry undress, savoring every second as Harry works at buttons and zippers with clumsy fingers and slowly exposes his skin. When he’s completely naked except for his rings and cross necklace, the suit hung properly in the closet, he comes over and kneels by the bed, dropping his head onto Louis’s thigh. 

Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s soft hair, the strands tickling his leg. Harry gazes up at him, and Louis can tell how tired he is from a day of travel and a night of poses and small talk. “We don’t have to,” he whispers, running over one of Harry’s dimples with the pad of his thumb. “We can wait.” 

“Do you _want_ to wait?” Harry asks, his voice slow and deep. Louis pauses and then shakes his head. Harry smiles. “Me neither.” 

“I saw pictures of you tonight,” Louis says, grabbing Harry under the arms and pulling him up. Harry parts his legs and straddles Louis’s thighs, dipping his head in to mouth at Louis’s throat. He’s settling into a monologue to set the scene for the night. “Cara. Kendall. Emma. Lana. _Courtney_.” 

“They’re nice girls,” Harry murmurs against his skin, licking over his pulse point. Louis fights against a shiver. 

“They all wanted you, Haz,” he continues. “I could see it in the photos. Did you love their attention, baby? You even let Courtney touch your hair.” He grabs a handful of Harry’s long hair and jerks his head back so they’re eye to eye, his neck cold where it’s been left damp with kisses. “Did it feel good when she touched you?” 

Harry immediately shakes his head despite Louis’s tight grip. “Just wanted you,” he says quickly, starting to rock his bare hips a little to grind against Louis’s clothed erection. 

“I don’t know. You looked pretty pleased in those photos.” Louis uses his hold on Harry’s hair to force his head back, fully exposing his throat. He knows Harry would never care for the affections of any of those women and this is just a bullshit story to inspire their play tonight, but he’s still feeling especially possessive. He latches his mouth onto Harry’s neck, working a deep bruise into the skin of his favorite spot just under the boy’s jaw. He used to mark Harry there all the time before management caught on and strictly forbid it, and he had to make due with bruising up less conspicuous parts of his body. 

Louis can feel Harry’s hard cock pressing into his stomach now, already turned on by the rough treatment. He wraps his other hand around both their lengths, rubbing them together while he keeps sucking and biting, earning an endless string of whimpers from Harry.

“Did you get hard like this?” Louis asks, finally pulling away but keeping Harry’s head forced backward. “Did you get hard when Courtney touched your hair?” He admires the bruise he made, giving it a little kiss, making Harry shiver in his hold. 

“Only wanted you,” Harry whispers, rutting his hips to try and get Louis to move his hand again. “P-please.” 

Louis finally releases his hair, and Harry straightens up. “I think you need to be punished, Haz,” he says, shaking his head sadly. Harry’s eyes are wide, his pupils like saucers in the dark bedroom. “Three hits for each girl sounds about right.” 

Harry shivers again, but without another word, he climbs off of Louis’s lap and gets onto his hands and knees in the center of the bed. Louis bites back a smile at his boy’s eagerness to be punished, wondering for the millionth time how he got so fucking lucky. He settles on his knees behind Harry, rubbing his hands over the boy’s ass roughly, kneading the flesh with his fingers. 

“Three for Cara,” he murmurs, blowing cold air over Harry’s hole so it clenches before his eyes. Then he raises his hand and brings his open palm down hard on Harry’s cheek, leaving a bright handprint. Harry jumps a little and cries out, more in surprise than pain. Louis repeats the action two more times on the same spot. 

“Three for Kendall.” He spanks him three more times, on the other cheek this time. When he’s done, Harry’s head is hanging down between his arms, and Louis can hear him panting and whimpering. 

“Three for Emma.” For these three, he alternates sides, keeping Harry nervous and guessing. His entire ass is bright red now, warm to the touch under Louis’s stinging palm. 

“Three for Lana.” He hits Harry’s upper thigh now, making Harry actually yell. On the third hit, Harry’s elbows buckle and his face falls into the mattress. 

“And five for Courtney,” Louis growls, changing it up at the last second. All five spanks land in a different spot, Harry’s sounds muffled by the sheets between his teeth. 

He runs the tips of his fingers soothingly over the heated flesh when he’s done, pressing a few kisses to the reddest spots. “You’re a good boy, Haz,” he murmurs. “My good, good boy.” 

Harry finally composes himself enough to straighten back up, pulling his face off the bed. “Thank you,” he whimpers. 

Louis grabs him by the hips and flips him onto his back before climbing on top of him so they can kiss. He delves his tongue inside Harry’s mouth, moaning when he tastes him, familiar and warm and everything he’s been missing these past few days. Harry’s long arms wrap around Louis’s waist and hold him tight, never trying to dominate, happy just to be kissed. 

When Louis finally pulls away, they’re both flushed and breathless. “Arms up,” he demands roughly. Harry quickly complies, and Louis makes sure Harry’s head is propped up on a pillow before using a pair of handcuffs to secure Harry’s wrists to a rod in their metal headboard. 

Louis shifts up so he’s straddling Harry’s chest. “I missed your mouth,” he says, taking his cock in hand so he can rub the head over Harry’s slightly parted lips. Harry’s eyes are hooded and hazy as he gazes up, waiting for his mouth to be filled. “Missed it so much. It’s only mine, right?” 

Harry nods, opening his mouth a little farther as Louis keeps teasing him. Every fiber in his being wants to lick and suck, but he knows how angry Louis would be if he did that, having trained him to only take what’s given. He forces himself to wait. 

“Didn’t use it on any of those women?” Louis continues, tracing Harry’s full lower lip. “I bet they wanted you to. I bet they could tell just looking at you how good you are with it.” He can feel Harry’s ragged breaths hot against his cock, those giant green eyes still staring up at him. He wants to just shove himself in that delicious mouth so badly, but his love for teasing is stronger. “Did they know who you belonged to? Did you tell them who’d spank you if you touched them? Who’d split you open on their cock? Hm?” 

Harry shakes his head almost imperceptibly, but Louis can feel his lips move. He smirks before finally thrusting forward, deep into Harry’s mouth, not giving him any kind of warning. Harry gags immediately but doesn’t try to pull away, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears and trying to swallow. 

Louis holds himself there for a few seconds before pulling out all the way, a thick string of spit attaching him to Harry’s lip. He slaps his slick cock against Harry’s cheek. “Keep those gorgeous eyes open, love, I haven’t been able to see them in so long,” he murmurs before thrusting back in. 

This time he moves his hips consistently, building up a steady rhythm that Harry quickly adjusts to. He watches Harry carefully to make sure that he’s breathing all right and, of course, that his eyes don’t fall shut again. They’re red rimmed and pouring tears down his cheeks now, but they’re open. 

Louis continues fucking his throat until he can’t hold off his orgasm anymore and has to stop. He doesn’t want to come anywhere except deep inside Harry’s ass. Harry sucks down deep, wet breaths when Louis pulls out, coughing and swallowing and whimpering. When Louis gets off his chest and settles between his legs, though, he sees Harry’s cock is as hard as ever. 

He presses a feather-light kiss to Harry’s shaft, looking up as Harry stares down his abdomen to watch him. Harry’s face is soaked with tears and spit, the bruise under his jaw an angry crimson now, and Louis doesn’t think he’s ever looked sexier. 

Grabbing Harry’s legs, Louis pushes his them up and apart so they’re bent at the knee and spread wide. Harry’s ass is still pink and warm from getting spanked. He presses a similarly gentle kiss to his hole, making the boy jerk and moan. “You want me to eat you out?” he asks, nipping at Harry’s inner thigh. 

Harry nods nervously, chewing on his bottom lip. He wants it so bad, but he’s scared to seem greedy. 

Louis pauses like he’s considering it, and then breaks into a smile. “All right, babe, you deserve it,” he says. He ducks his head back down, running his flat tongue over Harry’s tight entrance a few times to wet it and spreading his cheeks with his hands. 

Harry’s soft whines fill the bedroom as Louis takes his time to make Harry feel good after the spanking and face fucking he’s endured. Louis slips his tongue in and out of his clenching hole, working him open, making Harry pull against the handcuffs until there are red rings around his wrists. Louis forces one thumb in and then the other, using them to spread him wide so he can get his tongue in deeper. 

“Lou!” Harry cries out shakily. “Oh god, Lou. Feels so good, missed you so much.” 

Louis loves when Harry starts babbling, and he hadn’t told him to be quiet, so Harry’s not breaking any rules. He keeps eating him out until he can feel Harry trembling, and that’s when he grabs the lube, slicks up his fingers, and forces three of them in until Harry’s hips jack off the bed. 

“Just fuck me,” Harry chokes out, surprising Louis. “I-I love your fingers but I just want your cock, _please_. I don’t c-care if I’m prepped.” 

Louis keeps thrusting his three fingers in and out, determined to loosen him up before fucking him no matter what Harry wants. Harry’s eyes are shining with tears again, and they slam closed when Louis finally hits his prostate. 

“You sure you don’t want my fingers?” Louis teases, rubbing the spot inside Harry relentlessly. He has to hold the boy’s hips down with his other hand to keep him in place. Harry opens his mouth to beg, but only moans come out. 

Louis tortures him for a few more minutes then slicks up his cock. He positions himself at Harry’s now well-prepped entrance, locking eyes with him as he slowly pushes in, watching Harry’s gaze fall out of focus and his jaw go slack. 

Harry’s voice is almost too soft to hear, but Louis catches it, and it makes his chest tighten. “Missed you...”

Louis starts to slowly pump his hips, building speed, gasping at Harry’s tightness. Once he’s set a punishing rhythm that has Harry gripping the headboard he’s chained to, he drops one of his hands to teasingly stroke Harry’s cock. 

Harry lets out his loudest whine yet. Louis carefully leans over him without breaking his pace, slamming their mouths together so he can swallow down those delicious sounds. He can hear the handcuffs rattling against the metal headboard as Harry struggles. 

Louis can’t hold his orgasm back anymore. He tightens his grip on Harry’s cock, making the boy cry into his mouth with pleasure. After a few more seconds, he breaks their mouths apart. “You can come when I do,” he pants, and Harry eagerly nods. 

Straightening back up, he holds Harry by the crook of his knee with his free hand and fucks him with abandon, chasing his pleasure but making sure to stroke Harry in time with his thrusts. It doesn’t take long for heat to build in his stomach and his muscles to clench, and then he’s coming deep inside Harry with a choked groan. 

Almost immediately, Harry tenses up and starts to come, spurting his seed all over his own stomach and Louis’s hand, his hole clamping down around Louis’s sensitive cock. Louis lets out a string of hoarse curses, hurriedly pulling out. He’s still trembling with aftershocks, but he unlocks Harry’s handcuffs and settles back against the headboard. 

Louis pulls Harry’s limp body between his legs, Harry’s back pressed to Louis’s front, and he gently wipes his stomach clean with a tissue to postpone an actual shower for a few more minutes. Harry’s chest is heaving with his labored breaths, but his eyes are closed with his head lolled to the side. 

“You’re so good, Haz,” Louis murmurs, but Harry doesn’t even react. He strokes the younger boy’s hair, pushing the sweat-soaked strands off his forehead and kissing his temples. “Haz?” 

Louis watches him carefully, but Harry’s practically unconscious. Louis’s seen him like this before, after particularly rough or lengthy rounds of sex, and it always takes Harry a while to come back to reality. But as the minutes tick on and Louis starts thinking about his own sleep, for the first time ever he feels something besides satisfaction. 

He feels envy.                                                   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder that comments are literally the lifeblood of an author for chaptered stories. Good or bad, I love hearing what you think.


	6. Midnight Changes (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: there's a little bit of blood in this chapter? If that bothers you?

****

**Tuesday, December 2—London, England**

_Come to the party x_

 

_Ed says hi!_

 

_Why won’t you just come? Everything’s good, no cameras_

 

_Lou?_

 

_I’m just gonna stay another hour x_

 

_Louiiiiis?_

 

_???_

Louis hears his phone buzzing on the counter with another text from Harry, but he ignores it. He’s currently on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor, his upper half stuck inside a cabinet, knocking saucepans and baking sheets around. 

He stands up with a growl, slamming the cabinet door against the mess threatening to spill out inside. Harry had left for the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show party a few hours ago after begging Louis to accompany him all day long. Louis had flat out refused, hating the idea of rubbing elbows with models and celebrities all night while trying to maintain a respectable “just friends” distance from Harry. But then he’d found himself spending another night alone in their flat, which had led him to discovering that their alcohol supply had vanished. 

Every single bottle is missing from the antique wooden bar cart Harry had picked out at a street market last year and then paid through the nose to have refinished. The ridiculous bottle of Dom that Grimshaw had given out a party. The antique bottle of scotch Liam had gifted all the boys along with a box of cigars that one Christmas he was feeling especially generous. The bottle of vodka Louis had been working on since coming home. Even the bottle of white wine Harry had left to chill in the fridge is gone. Convinced Harry must have hidden them all somewhere, he’d spent the better part of the night tearing the place apart in search of them. 

“Fuck!” he swears, kicking a muffin pan across the floor that must’ve escaped from the cabinet. It’s not even that he wants a drink so badly, it’s just that _now he can’t have one_. 

He grabs his phone, giving Harry’s series of texts a cursory glance before punching in one of his own, forcing himself to keep it polite and free of curse words. 

_Styles. Where did you hide all the booze?_

Now, of course, he gets no texts. Well, a gleeful one from Niall about a Manchester United trade, but it’s radio silence from Harry. Fuming, he throws himself down on the couch and turns the television on, firing up the Xbox.

His mind wanders as he plays FIFA, thinking of all the stuff he would love to do to Harry later to show him _just_ how much he appreciated the vanishing alcohol trick, but he sucks in a sharp breath when he remembers the night before. After they had finished, when he’d been holding Harry’s limp body in his arms, he’d had a revelation of sorts that he’s now spent the whole day trying not to think about. 

He had felt jealous of Harry. 

Since their time in the X Factor house, their relationship always went like this. Louis was naturally dominant and Harry was naturally submissive. They fell into their roles instinctively and never questioned it. Louis took Harry apart and put him back together again, and Harry worked nonstop to please Louis without question. Their trust in each other was unparalleled, and they never tried it any other way. It worked. 

But now… 

Louis’s player passes the ball, and the other team steals it and scores. He slams the controller onto the ground with a swear and stands up, itching for something to do to take his mind off this. _A fucking drink would help,_ he thinks bitterly, stomping back into the kitchen. 

Harry had looked so blissful after he came last night. 

Louis tugs on his hair with both hands, dropping his elbows onto the counter with a groan. He can’t manage to sleep through the night, but he can get Harry to go positively unconscious. What if they switched roles? His stomach flips just thinking about it. 

His phone buzzes again.

_On my way home. Wait up for me? x_

“Like I have a choice,” Louis grumbles, pissed that Harry intentionally ignored his last message. 

Deciding that the second best thing to alcohol is tea, Louis puts a kettle of water on the stove and collapses onto a kitchen chair while it boils. Holding his head up with one hand, he uses the other to scroll through Tumblr again, pleased to find there are no high quality photographer photos of Harry from tonight. There aren’t even any grainy fan photos, just a single picture of Harry with Ed and some other guys Louis doesn’t care to recognize that came off one of their Instagrams. Harry looks genuinely happy, his lips a deep pink from the filter that has Louis salivating—until he notices the glass of wine in Harry’s hand. 

“Oh, so _you_ get to drink!” Louis yells, smacking the phone onto the table. Convinced he’s completely losing it now and at high risk of cracking yet another iPhone screen, he forces himself up to pour the now hot water into a mug. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Harry comes through the front door when Louis’s putting a half finished mug in the sink, not bothering to wash it out because he knows the tea stains will drive Harry crazy. He doesn’t turn around from the sink, and Harry saunters up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. 

“Hi, boo,” he murmurs, kissing the back of Louis’s neck. “Missed you.” 

Louis sighs, relaxing into Harry’s body against his will. “Why is it so hard to stay mad at you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Louis finally turns around, but Harry keeps his long arms locked around his middle. “I _mean_ ,” he says bitterly, “That I’m mad at you for hiding all the alcohol!” 

Harry’s gaze drops guiltily, and he rubs Louis’s sides. How can he possibly explain to Louis why he did that without making him angrier? Instead of trying to answer, he tilts his head down to catch Louis’s mouth in a kiss. 

He feels Louis stiffen suddenly in his arms and then break their kiss. “You taste like cheap wine,” he spits. 

Harry recoils, taking a half step backward. The heel of his boot clangs against a muffin tin, making him jump at the noise. “Doing some baking?” he asks, trying to joke, as he bends down to pick it up and put away. 

“No, I was actually trying to find what you so cleverly hid.” 

“Louis,” Harry groans. “I’m sorry, love, I just… I didn’t want you to have to deal with that temptation alone.” 

Louis’s entire body tenses visibly, and the look he shoots Harry is one of pure venom. “Excuse me?” 

Harry feels like he swallowed ice. He reaches a hand toward Louis but decides better of it, running his fingers through his own hair instead. “I know you’ve been, you know, having a hard time, and—“ 

“I am not a fucking alcoholic, Styles!” Louis yells, his volume making Harry cringe. “I can’t fucking sleep at night! You pass out in my arms like you’re dead to the world, but I fall asleep and wake up an hour later feeling like I’m having a bloody heart attack!” 

Harry feels the corners of his eyes prickle with tears; he hates being yelled at more than anything. He had been so looking forward to another fun round together like last night, thinking of all the naughty ways Louis could twist his activity at the party this time to fit their scene. He had not anticipated coming home to this. 

“Y-you’re just overtired,” he mumbles, his voice thick from trying not to cry. “Do you want to go to bed…?” 

“Go to bed?!” Louis roars. “I _just told you_ I can’t sleep, aren’t you fucking listening?” 

“Please, love,” Harry begs, a few tears streaking down his cheeks. “Please j-just come to bed…” 

Louis makes an angry noise, picking up his phone and slamming it down on the counter in frustration. The screen shatters against the stone, and Louis curses, jerking his hand back as his palm fills with blood. 

“Lou!” Harry gasps, grabbing a dishtowel and rushing to him. He wraps Louis’s hand quickly with the cloth and puts pressure on it, holding it tight despite Louis’s noise of pain. 

Louis tries to lean back against the counter, but he’s shaking so hard from the sight of blood and his angry outburst that his knees give out, and he slides to the floor. Harry drops right down with him, pulling Louis’s legs over his so Louis can cuddle up to his side. 

Louis doesn’t want to, but he reflexively clings to Harry with his other arm, groaning miserably. 

Harry keeps holding Louis’s injured hand tightly with the towel against his chest. He uses his other hand to shakily stroke Louis’s hair, trying to get the boy to calm down. After a few minutes, he peeks under the towel to assess the damage while Louis squeezes his eyes shut. There’s a jagged gash right in the center of Louis’s palm, and a small shining piece of glass stuck in the middle of it. 

Swallowing nervously, Harry covers the wound back up but doesn’t push down. “I have to get tweezers, babe,” he whispers. “Do you want to come with me to the bathroom or do you want to stay here while I go get them?” 

Louis looks conflicted, but he starts untangling their legs. Harry scrambles to his feet so he can help Louis up, and then he gently leads him to their master bathroom. Once Louis’s seated on top of the closed toilet, Harry starts digging through the drawers to find the tweezers. 

He grabs the lighter out of Louis’s pocket that’s always there and uses the flame to sanitize the tips of their hardly used pair of tweezers. Louis watches him with half-lidded eyes, his face pale as Harry drops to his knees in front of him and uncovers his hand again. 

“Don’t move,” he whispers, dabbing gently at the cut to mop up some blood so he can see the sliver of glass again. Louis twitches, so Harry drops the towel and grabs his wrist tightly. 

His hand is trembling, but he very carefully uses the tweezers to extract the shard, and Louis holds perfectly still, trusting him completely. 

Harry drops the piece into the trash and rinses the tweezers off in the sink. Louis’s palm is filling up with blood again now that the glass is out, so Harry wraps it back up in the stained dishtowel. He doesn’t know anything about this stuff, but he can tell Louis is shaken up, so he has to act calm and rational. 

He gets down onto the bathroom floor, sitting against the bathtub so he can watch Louis. Much to his surprise, though, Louis gets off the toilet and drops down to the floor too, slipping in between Harry’s legs and leaning back against his chest. 

“How do we always end up on the bathroom floor?” he teases softly, kissing Louis’s hair. “You okay?” 

“Stupid,” Louis chokes out. “My fault.” 

Harry shushes him, tucking his head over the boy’s shoulder and holding him tight. “It was an accident.” 

Louis turns his head so he can kiss Harry’s temple, and they stay in a comfortable silence for a while. He checks under the towel every so often to see if the bleeding has stopped, and after a half hour, he forces himself to stand up to get a bandage. Harry quickly stands up too. 

“Let me do it, love.” The first aid supply is limited, but Harry manages to find a few pieces of gauze and bandage tape leftover from one of their many in-house tattoo sessions. He forces Louis to run water over the cut to clean it, holding his wrist under the tap when he tries to jerk it back with a hiss. Then he dries it off, pads it with gauze, and wraps the white tape over it a few times. 

Once Harry cleans up the bathroom a bit, Louis catches him in a one-armed hug, pressing kisses to his neck. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he whispers. “In… every way.” 

“Of course,” Harry breathes, letting his eyes fall closed briefly. “I’ll always take care of you.” 

Louis pulls back after a second and looks Harry in the eye, chewing his bottom lip like he wants to say something. Harry stays quiet, waiting for him to get the words out. 

“I…” he tries, dropping his gaze nervously. “I need…” 

“What do you need, love?” Harry prods gently. 

Louis face suddenly crumples, his blue eyes shining with tears. “I don’t know how to ask for it,” he whispers hoarsely. 

Harry immediately can tell that whatever’s on Louis’s mind goes way beyond the physical injury. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just strokes Louis’s lower back soothingly, watching the tears start to tumble down his cheeks. 

Louis presses his face into Harry’s silky shirt, taking an enormous shuddering breath. “I need us to… to switch,” he says finally, his voice muffled. 

Harry’s not sure he heard right, but he can’t ask Louis to repeat it. Switch? 

He holds the back of Louis’s head, rubbing soft circles into his scalp. “I’ll do anything for you,” he says to break the silence. 

“I need us to switch,” Louis repeats, and once the words start coming, they don’t stop. “I-I know I’ve always been the dominant one, and I’ve always loved it so much, but I think I just… I need you to take the reigns for a while, I-I need to feel what you feel, I want to… I want to sleep at the end like you do.” 

Harry doesn’t realize he’s frozen until Louis straightens up in his hold. The boy’s face is so pale and tearstained, and he just looks so broken. It makes Harry’s heart hurt. 

“Can you do that for me?” Louis begs. 

“Is…” Harry has to cough a little to find his voice, his throat feeling way too tight. “Is this just about sleep?” 

Louis immediately shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair with his uninjured hand. “I know I’ve been a mess lately, Haz,” he confesses, his voice stronger now that he’s finally gotten his feelings off his chest. “I feel like… Management makes all my decisions. The fans don’t even know the real me anymore. My mic is turned down the lowest on stage because I can’t care enough to sing well. It’s… It’s all eating me alive. I can’t sleep, and then I’m so exhausted, and then I can’t fight off the anxiety, so I drink, and then I treat you like shit, and it’s just this vicious cycle.” 

“So if I… If I dominate… If I take you…” Harry can’t find the right words. This isn’t his natural position. 

“I need you to take control for me, Haz,” Louis says, wiping his swollen eyes. “I’m begging you. I can’t do it myself anymore. I need us to switch places in bed, and… More.” 

“More?” 

“Can we just start there?” he pleads. 

Harry quickly nods, folding Louis up in his arms again. “Yes, yes, of course,” he murmurs, nuzzling his feathery soft hair. “Whatever you need, love. We’ll start in the bedroom and take it from there. Whatever you need.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

They stay in the bathroom just holding each other for a while, Louis trying to keep his tears at bay and Harry trying to come to grips with what he just agreed to. When they finally pull apart, they’re both anxious but determined. 

“Does your hand hurt?” Harry asks.

“Just stings when I move it.” 

Harry pulls out a bottle of pain relievers from the medicine cabinet and pours out two pills, placing them on Louis’s tongue. Louis swallows them down with some water from the sink before following Harry into the bedroom, trembling with nervous energy. 

 _I don’t know how to do this_ , Harry keeps repeating in his head. _I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know how to do this. What if I hurt him? How do I know what he needs? How does he always know what_ I _need?_

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice Louis come into the bedroom and drop to his knees in the center of the room.


	7. Midnight Changes (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU. You faithful readers are the best, helping me get views and sticking by me and keeping me writing. If you guys have any requests for how you'd like to see this story go, PLEASE let me know. Gemma's and Louis's nan's birthdays are our next stop, and we all knew how the rumors flew that day.
> 
> This is a porny chapter.

_How do I do this? How do I help him? What does he need from me? How did this even happen? Will this help him at all?_

Harry’s head buzzes with questions as he stands next to the bed, playing with the edge of the duvet. He’s not sure how things took such a crazy turn. Wasn’t he drinking wine with Ed and a bunch of lingerie models only a few hours ago? How had he suddenly ended up agreeing to do something so, so far out his comfort zone like this? 

When he turns around, he only barely manages to stifle his gasp. Louis is kneeling on the floor of their bedroom with his hands clasped behind his back, staring resolutely at the rug. Even in the dim light spilling in from the hallway, Harry can see that the boy is trembling. 

Chewing on his lower lip and scratching at the thick makeup covering the love bite on his throat from last night, Harry perches on the side of the bed. His heart is pounding in his chest so hard it almost hurts, but he knows he has to do this for Louis. Louis needs this from him. For Louis, he can do it. 

Harry clears his throat a little. “Take off your shirt,” he says, trying his hardest to make it sound like a command and not a question. 

Louis only hesitates a second before grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it up over his head. Without ever so much as glancing in Harry’s direction, he folds it up and places it beside him. 

“Trousers,” Harry says. 

Louis’s hands drop to his flies, popping open the button and pulling down the zipper. He pauses, trying to figure out if he has to stand up to take them off, before figuring out he can tug them underneath his knees and off his legs. He folds these, too, and puts them on top of the shirt. 

They’ve seen every part of each other; there’s not even a freckle on Louis’s body that Harry doesn’t know in detail. But something about commanding Louis to take off his last piece of clothing makes Harry’s stomach drop. 

Harry swallows. “Pants,” he whispers. 

Louis’s eyes close briefly as he grabs onto the waistband of his Calvin’s and pulls them off, folding them in half and dropping them on top of the pile of clothes. Now completely naked, he puts his hands behind his back again and drops his head. 

Harry’s thoughts are in overdrive as he stares down at his boyfriend. His boyfriend who is usually so dominant, aggressive, and possessive in bed—qualities Harry _really_ enjoys being at the receiving end of. He’s trying so hard to think of some way to give Louis the peace he needs, some way to get him into the headspace he’s clearly craving, without having to hurt him too badly. 

Louis is starting to fidget uncomfortably by the time Harry decides what he’s going to do. 

Harry takes an enormous breath before standing up. “Get on the bed,” he orders, and this time it actually sounds like an order. 

He tries not to let the surprise show on his face when Louis crawls instead of walks. 

“On your back,” he adds as Louis settles on top of the duvet. He secures Louis’s wrists to the headboard with the pair of steel handcuffs dangling there, being careful of his bandaged hand. Louis’s intense blue stare is unnerving him, and while not being able to read his expressions makes him anxious too, Harry decides to blindfold him with a scarf. Not having to maintain an unyielding facial expression of his own now is helpful, too.

Harry gets off the bed to gather a few supplies—special tingling lubricant, a vibrating plug, and a small vibrator. He considers a cock ring but decides against it, certain he knows Louis’s body well enough to not need it. Glancing over at the bed, though, eying the boy’s thick football quads and calves, he grabs a couple padded restraints. 

Louis’s breathing accelerates, but he doesn’t fight when Harry buckles his ankles into the restraints and attaches them to either side of the footboard, spreading him wide. Harry settles between his legs with the two toys and the lube. 

Harry has to make sure of one thing before he starts. “What’s the safe word?” 

Louis doesn’t say anything, so Harry pinches his inner thigh sharply. “I’m not going to start until you tell me what the safe word is!” 

“Red,” Louis answers, barely audible, clenching his uninjured hand. 

Mollified, Harry opens the bottle of lube and slicks up his fingers. He can already feel the little beads bursting on his skin, tingly cold like menthol and sure to drive Louis crazy. He very gently circles a finger around Louis’s entrance, biting back the urge to ask Louis a thousand times if he’s sure he wants this. 

Louis jerks a little, which makes Harry immediately retract his fingers. Biting his lip, Louis lets out a soft whine, relaxing his muscles and parting his thighs as far as he can, trying to urge Harry on. 

Steeling himself, Harry finally pushes one finger inside. He works it in and out carefully, stretching him, slipping in a second finger after a few minutes. When he scissors them apart, Louis whines again, but Harry is confident that it’s not an unhappy sound. 

Even though Louis is practically dripping, Harry adds a little more lube to his ring finger just to be on the safe side before tucking it in alongside his middle and index fingers. Louis chokes in a breath, making Harry freeze, but when he lets it out in a sigh Harry starts to move again. He fucks him slowly with the three fingers, spreading them as much as he can, loosening him up to get him ready. 

Louis is just starting to get hard when Harry withdraws his fingers and slicks up the black, cone-shaped plug. Holding onto the flared end, he pushes it against Louis’s entrance until it slides inside, making Louis finally let out a soft moan. Harry moves the toy around a little to help Louis adjust before letting it settle in place. 

Harry picks up the little remote and hits the button, and the sudden soft vibrations make Louis’s hips jack off the bed. Louis almost never lets Harry put toys inside him, so he’s not at all used to the feeling, but Harry knows full and well how good it can be. He’s smiling when he sees Louis’s cock is now fully hard. 

“What’s your color?” Harry asks before he goes any further. 

Louis takes a second to find his voice before whispering, “Green.” 

Starting to feel a little more confident about the situation, Harry drops his head and licks Louis’s erection from base to tip, pinning his hips to the bed. Louis gasps as Harry’s tongue moves, wetting him all over, kissing and sucking his balls. Harry can feel Louis’s thigh and ass muscles clenching from the vibrations in his hole, his heels digging into the mattress, and he experiences a pleasant little rush of power that he’s never felt before. 

He finally takes Louis into his mouth, relaxing his throat and swallowing him down, holding tight to his hips so he can’t thrust up and choke him.

“Oh god, Harry, yes,” Louis gasps, and Harry almost jumps in surprise at hearing him speak a full sentence.

He keeps sucking him, moving his head up and down and working his tongue into Louis’s most sensitive places. He moves one hand off of Louis’s hips to cup his balls, rolling them gently in his hand but mostly paying special attention to when they tighten. 

Louis starts panting, writhing underneath Harry and letting out soft, short moans. “I’m gonna come, Haz,” he chokes out, trying to thrust his hips. “I’m gonna—“ 

Harry only sucks him for a few more seconds before he pulls off and sits up straight so he’s not touching Louis anywhere. It takes Louis a moment to realize what happens before he thrashes in his bonds, making desperate noises. 

“No, no, no, Harry please!” he begs, pushing his hips into the air but dropping back down when that makes him clench around the vibrating plug. “Let me come!” 

Harry smirks even though Louis can’t see him. He picks up the lube and wets his hands with it before starting to massage Louis’s thighs and hips. He takes special care to rub as close to his cock as he can without touching it, letting the tingling sensation spread all over the boy’s skin. He works his fingers into Louis’s tight muscles, drawing low moans out of him and making his erection twitch and bob. 

“Harry, please,” Louis begs, and Harry’s not sure he’s ever heard Louis sound quite like that. Breathless and desperate and wrecked. And they’ve only just started. 

He coats Louis’s cock with the lube now, the cool liquid a stark contrast to Louis’s heated member. Making sure not to give him nearly enough friction to come, he makes a loose ring with his thumb and index finger and starts moving it up and down. 

The sound Louis makes goes straight to Harry’s cock, which he realizes is rock hard and trapped in his jeans. His own pleasure is not his priority, though, so he keeps his focus on edging Louis. He continues jacking him with just the tips of his fingers, grabbing the remote and increasing the vibrations. 

“Please!” Louis pants, turning his head and sinking his teeth into his upper arm with a whimper. 

Harry lets go of Louis’s cock before slapping it with his open palm, hard enough to send it smacking into his stomach. “Don’t bite yourself,” he scolds as Louis gasps in pain. “I’m the only one leaving marks on you tonight, understand?” 

Louis pulls his mouth away, leaving a full set of teeth marks behind that makes Harry growl. Harry has no idea where all this dominance is coming from, but he’s not going to fight it. Much to his surprise, it actually feels pretty good. He just prays it’s helping Louis. 

He presses a different button on the remote that changes the steady vibrations into pulsing ones, and Louis lets out a broken sob. The tingling from the lubricant is starting to drive him crazy, making him squirm incessantly in his bonds, and Harry can’t help but just watch his beautiful body struggle.

Harry picks up the small vibrator and turns it on, running it slowly up and down Louis’s shaft. Louis sobs again, straining against the handcuffs, every muscle in his body clenched.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” he gushes, trying to rock up against the vibrator. 

Harry smirks. “Not yet,” he teases, holding the vibrator against the sensitive spot on the underside of Louis’s cockhead. The noise Louis makes has Harry palming himself through his jeans.

He pulls the vibrator away, bending over to blow air all over Louis’s wet dick, the cold rush making goose bumps break out all over his skin. Harry can just imagine how bloodshot Louis’s eyes are behind the blindfold, the brilliant blue swimming in tears, and he’s surprised at how much that turns him on. He’s tempted to take the scarf off so he can see them, but he’s too scared that Louis’s gaze will take away his newfound confidence. 

“Harry, Harry please, please let me come.” Louis is fully begging now, flushed from forehead to collarbone, his lower lip quivering. “Please, baby, let me come. It hurts so bad.” 

Harry places the vibrator against him again, teasing his balls and inner thighs with it, only occasionally running it over his cock. Louis is sobbing almost nonstop now, his arms limp and exhausted in the handcuffs but his legs still taut from the vibrations in his hole. 

After a long while of that, Harry turns the vibrator off and tosses it aside, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table and using it to wipe the lube off Louis’s dick. The tissue feels like sandpaper to Louis, and he desperately tries to jerk his lower half to the side. Chuckling, Harry keeps a firm grip on Louis’s hips again before taking him back into his mouth.

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis moans. “Oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Harry sucks him hard but painstakingly slow, pulling off every time he feels like Louis is getting too close. After almost fifteen torturous minutes of this, Louis is shaking so hard that the handcuffs are rattling against the headboard, and sweat is beading on his forehead and shining on his chest. 

Praying he’s pushed Louis far enough, Harry hits the button on the remote one more time, leaving it at its highest setting and finally starting to suck him off properly. It doesn’t take very long for Louis to reach his peak, falling apart with a strangled cry and coming hard in Harry’s mouth, shooting thick, pent up pulses of seed into his throat. Harry swallows it all down, letting Louis lift his hips off the bed as much as he wants now. 

When it’s over, Louis falls back down to the bed with a gasping breath, lying boneless in the restraints and twitching with aftershocks. Harry quickly turns the plug off and pulls it out before undoing all of the cuffs, removing the blindfold, and checking his bandage. He takes Louis’s naked body and curls his own fully clothed one around it, holding him tightly, brushing his damp hair off his forehead and showering him with tiny kisses. 

“Louis?” he whispers. “Are you alright…?” 

He tries again after a few minutes. “Lou?” 

But Louis doesn’t answer. He’s fast asleep.


	8. Midnight Changes (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this to be a three-part chapter, but what do you know.

Louis shifts a little in bed, opening his eyes just a crack. Their bedroom is full of cold, winter sunlight, the windowpanes damp with last night’s frost. He turns his head to look at Harry, still sleeping soundly on his back beside him, completely devoid of covers except for the sheet tangled around his legs. The hickey on his neck that Louis had made a few nights ago is free of makeup now, a dark purple mark on his smooth skin. The sight of it makes Louis’s heart swell.

He starts to slide closer to Harry, seeking out the boy’s body heat, but a sudden soreness in his lower half makes his gasp. Memories of the night before hit him like a wall, and he starts running his uninjured hand all over his body like he’s taking inventory of it. Harry must have wiped him down afterward because there are no traces of come or lube on his skin. There is, however, a nice bite mark in his upper arm that he’s pretty sure he made himself, and a few light bruises on his hips. His ass is quite sore; a reminder of what Harry did every time he moves. 

A warm, calm feeling washes over him as thinks of that. He’d asked—no, begged—Harry to take control for the night, to help put him in subspace so he could finally get some real sleep, and Harry had truly delivered. Harry, his docile, loving, trusting, puppy of a boyfriend had gone against his very nature to dominate Louis, and Louis couldn’t even begin to express his gratitude. 

Because it had worked. He had slept right through the night. No panic attacks, no alcohol. Just Harry. 

Happy to feel the soreness now, he slides across the sheets to snuggle up into Harry’s side, tucking his head in the younger boy’s underarm. Harry makes a soft, sleepy noise and instinctively wraps his arm around Louis’s back, holding him close. Louis tugs the duvet up over both of them, and Harry kicks it back down in his sleep only fifteen minutes later. 

They stay like that for another hour, Louis replaying the night before over and over again in his head while waiting for Harry to wake. He’s tracing Harry’s butterfly tattoo with a finger when Harry’s eyes finally open. 

“Hi,” he says with a smile, his voice low and hoarse. 

Louis tips his head up to look at him, returning the smile. “Hi, yourself.” 

“You sleep?” Harry asks, even though he knows the answer. He had woken up to check on Louis all night long. 

Louis nods, his downy hair tickling Harry’s underarm. “I… Haz,” he sighs, rolling on top of Harry and dropping his forehead onto the boy’s collarbone so he’s speaking into his skin. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

Harry slides a hand under Louis’s chin and forces his head up so they can look each other in the eye. “You don’t have to,” he murmurs, leaning in to peck him on the lips. “I’d do anything for you.” 

Louis shuffles up Harry’s body a little so he can get his mouth on that bruise, kissing and sucking it softly. “I haven’t slept like that since, I can’t even remember,” he whispers. 

Harry lets out a little noise, tilting his head to give Louis better access. “We… We do have to talk about this,” he says, his eyes fluttering closed as Louis licks a gentle line up his throat. 

“I know.” Louis drops his head down with a sigh, tucking underneath Harry’s chin. “Need tea first, though.” 

Harry laughs and Louis can feel the rumble in his chest, which makes him smile too. After a few more minutes of cuddling, he rolls off of Harry and stands up to put on a hoodie and a pair of joggers, groaning at the soreness in his bum. Harry follows, only slipping into some boxers before following Louis downstairs. 

While Louis is over by the stove busying himself with the kettle, Harry goes to examine the remnants of Louis’s phone from last night. Both sides of the iPhone are completely smashed, pieces scattered on the counter and the floor. There are a few dark drops of blood, too, which Harry quickly wipes away with a wet paper towel. 

“Should I just throw it out?” he asks, carefully picking up the shards and putting them in the trash. “I don’t know if it’s fixable.” 

Louis pulls out two mugs and two bags of Yorkshire tea before joining Harry to assess the damage. He pulls a face and chucks the phone into the garbage. “Text management to get me a new one, yeah?” 

Harry nods, hopping up on the counter and sending a quick text off to management and also to Louis’s mum and Niall, Zayn, and Liam so they would know why Louis wasn’t answering. Louis comes to stand between his legs, resting his head against Harry’s bare chest and rubbing his back with his good hand. 

Harry locks Louis in with his legs, kissing the top of his head. He can’t deny that he’s enjoying this soft, cuddly Louis. But they really do need to discuss what happened last night and what they’re going to do now. 

“Tea first,” Louis says like he’s reading Harry’s mind. 

They stay like that until the kettle whistles, and then Louis pulls away to fill the mugs with hot water. They take the tea to the couch to drink, sitting on opposites ends so they can look at each other and tangling their legs in the middle under a throw blanket. 

Neither of them knows how to start, so they just awkwardly sip at their too-hot tea and avoid eye contact. Louis rubs his socked foot up and down Harry’s shin, biting his lip. 

“So,” Harry finally says. “Last night.” 

Louis takes a big gulp and immediately screws his face up at the temperature. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, his tongue burning. “Smashing the phone was so stupid, I don’t know what came over me.”

“You were mad,” Harry says simply. 

Louis sighs, shaking his head. “Yeah, mad because you were trying to help me,” he says. 

“I shouldn’t have hid the alcohol, that was wr—“ 

“No, Haz,” Louis interrupts. “It was absolutely right. I-I’ve been out of control.” 

Harry runs his fingers through his hair roughly, a sure sign that he’s feeling uncomfortable. 

“If you hadn’t hid it,” Louis continues, his voice starting to wobble as he’s suddenly fighting tears. “You would’ve c-come home, and I would’ve been drunk, a-and…” He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “I treat you like shit when I’m drunk.” 

Harry puts his mug down on the coffee table so he can crawl between Louis’s legs and kiss his closed eyes. “I know you’ve been having a hard time, love,” he whispers, thumbing away Louis’s tears. “You were just trying to cope.” 

“Not an excuse,” Louis chokes out. He’s surprised by his own show of emotions, having expected a calm, rational discussion and some kink negotiation. Instead, all his pent up feelings seem to be pouring out. “You stayed up with me when I puked from drinking too much, a-and then I just left you in a hotel room when you were sick. I drove you away—I drove you halfway across the world.” 

Harry stays quiet, still wiping away Louis’s tears as they fall. He tugs the mug out of the boy’s bandaged hand and puts it down beside his own before it ends up spilling in their laps. 

“The _look_ Liam gave me when you came to Niall’s room that morning, Haz, oh my god,” he groans, letting his head fall back against the armrest. “He was disgusted with me.” 

“No, Lou,” Harry says, sitting cross-legged between Louis’s legs and rubbing the boy’s thigh soothingly over his joggers. “He wasn’t disgusted, he was… He was disappointed.” 

Louis lets out a long sigh, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand before sitting up straight again. “I can’t sleep because of these panic attacks, Haz,” he says, like this is new news. “Even when I’m not having one, I’m so scared of having one that it’s just as bad. And they won’t let me take medicine for it because it’ll ‘affect my performance’ or some shit, but I’m so exhausted that I’m singing terribly anyways—don’t say anything, Harry, I read what they say on Twitter—but then I’m so exhausted that I don’t even care.” 

Harry knows all of this, but it’s good for Louis to talk about it, so he would never stop him, even though he opened his mouth reflexively to refute the singing terribly comment.

“You slept last night,” he whispers. 

Louis nods, picking up one of Harry’s hands so he can nervously play with the rings on his fingers. “I did,” he breathes. 

“I only edged you,” Harry says like it’s a confession, watching Louis take the turquoise ring off the pointer finger of his left hand and slide it onto the fourth finger instead. “For like, maybe, forty minutes…” 

“It worked though,” Louis says, finally looking up from Harry’s hands. “I slept through the entire night. I don’t think I woke up once.” His eyes are wide and innocent and so crystal blue that Harry forgets to breathe for a second. 

“I’ll do that every night for you.” Harry kisses Louis’s reddened cheek. “Whatever you need.” 

“I know you don’t like it, Haz,” Louis mumbles, catching Harry’s mouth with his own so they can have a real kiss. 

“But I like you,” Harry says between kisses, biting on Louis’s lower lip and tugging it. “And actually… I did kind of enjoy it.” 

Louis pulls back with a quizzical look on his tearstained face. “You did?” 

Harry nods, blushing a bit. “I didn’t think I would, but… It’s a bit of a power trip.” 

Louis smiles knowingly, kissing the hickey on Harry’s neck hard. “Don’t I know it,” he teases, his voice still a little thick from crying but his tone stronger now. 

They both jump when Harry’s phone starts vibrating loudly on the coffee table. The caller ID reads Jay Deakin with a heart emoji. Harry reaches over to grab it, putting it on speakerphone. 

“Hi, mum,” Louis chirps, trying his hardest to sound normal. 

“Hi, baby,” Jay’s voice says from the speaker. “What happened to your phone?” 

“Dropped it in the toilet,” Louis says a little too quickly. “I’ll have a new one by tonight. What’s up?” 

Jay sighs loudly. “Please tell me you didn’t forget your nan’s birthday lunch today, Louis.” 

Louis groans. “’Course not, mum. What time is it again?”

“Twelve-thirty. And you need to dress sharp, it’s a nice hotel. And you need to leave early, give yourself enough time if there’s traffic, okay?” 

“Yes, yes, yes.” Louis rolls his eyes and Harry stifles a laugh. “Text the address to Harry’s phone, yeah?” 

After they hang up, Louis downs the rest of his cold tea and stands up. “Better shower. You coming?” 

“Mm, I was thinking about going back to bed for a bit,” Harry muses, stretching a little before standing up too. 

Louis shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Harry’s warm middle from behind and kissing between his shoulder blades. “Nope,” he says. “I can’t be going around without a phone, so you’re coming to lunch.” 

Harry tries to shoot Louis a look, but it’s impossible to see his face in their current position. “Boo, that’s… That’s so risky, I can’t be seen at your family outing.” 

“Then don’t be seen,” Louis says simply, letting go and starting to climb the stairs. “Come on, let’s go shower.” 

Harry knows it’s useless to argue with Louis when he’s got one of these plans in his mind, and to be honest, thinking about being a part of Louis’s nan’s birthday celebration is really nice. Like something a real couple could do. 

“Fine,” he calls after him, gathering their mugs to bring into the kitchen. “But then you’re coming to Gem’s birthday dinner tonight!”


	9. Midnight Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't thank you all enough for sticking with me and for the nice comments you leave—they mean so, so much. This chapter was a fun challenge. Hope you enjoy x

****

**Wednesday, December 3—London, England**

Once again, Louis finds himself alone in the flat late at night waiting for Harry, but he’s in a good mood for a change. He’s still got his coat on and is leaning out the kitchen window, working on his second cigarette.

It had been a long day, fun but with its set of difficulties. Louis’s nan’s luncheon had gone smoothly enough, until Louis’s younger sister Lottie had posted a photo on Instagram without realizing Harry’s telltale hat was on a chair in it. Then management had blown up Harry’s phone, demanding Louis not go to Gemma’s birthday celebrations because people were already suspicious. It had taken a lot of begging to get them to settle with having Harry photographed leaving the party alone instead, which had also given Louis a chance to sneak away in a separate car. Besides those hiccups, though, they’d both had a lovely time with each other’s families.

Louis’s almost down to the filter when Harry finally comes through the front door, wearing only his hat and a white button down shirt with intricate peach stitching on the chest, carrying a small brown shopping bag. 

“Come on, Louis,” Harry moans, waving his arms dramatically like the kitchen is full of smoke. “You promised not to smoke inside!” 

Louis takes a deep drag and blows the smoke out the window to prove a point. “It’s freezing, babe,” he says, stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray and closing the window. “Speaking of, where’s your coat?” He goes over to Harry and tries to kiss him, but Harry turns his head so Louis’s lips land in his hair. 

“No kisses for you,” he declares, dropping the bag onto the counter and rubbing his hands together, shivering a bit. “They rushed me out to get photographed, I didn’t have time to get it. It’s still in the coat check. It’s Saint Laurent!”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he takes Harry’s hands in his to warm them up. Harry grins and slips them up the front of Louis’s sweater instead, making the older boy gasp at the cold touch. Harry moves them all over Louis’s torso like he’s trying to steal every inch of his body heat, his grin growing when Louis squirms.

“This is what you get for smoking inside,” he teases, stroking his freezing fingers up Louis’s spine, making goose bumps break out along the older boy’s tan skin.

Louis tries to pull away but Harry keeps him in place. He moves one hand up to Louis’s chest, brushing across his nipples while holding him by the hip with the other. As he expected, Louis yelps and jerks, which only makes Harry’s smile grow. 

“You _are_ starting to enjoy this,” Louis accuses, his sensitive nipples hardening quickly from Harry’s freezing touch. He leans up and attempts to kiss the smirk off Harry’s face, but Harry suddenly pulls away entirely. Louis scowls.

“Today was really nice,” Harry says conversationally, pulling his keys and wallet and phone out of his pants pockets and putting them on the kitchen table, along with his hat. He combs his fingers through his hair. “Felt good to spend time with each other’s families, right?”

Louis nods, slipping out of his coat a bit warily, like Harry might dump ice down his shirt at any minute or something. “Yeah, would’ve been better if management hadn’t been such a twat, though.” 

“It all worked out,” Harry chirps happily, thumbing through his phone. The amount of people on his Twitter feed that recognized the hat in Lottie’s picture right away makes his heart swell. He lives for these little slips that management can’t control.

Louis is starting to get a little antsy, standing around in the kitchen while Harry checks his texts and whatnot. He wants to take what they did last night and push it a little further, but as usual, he doesn’t know how to ask.

And as usual, Harry reads him like a book.

“Need something, love?” he asks casually, eyes flicking up from his phone screen. He’s got just a hint of a smile on, carefully controlled.

Louis looks down at the kitchen floor, wringing his hands and biting his lip. “I was thinking about going to bed?” he asks, his voice even higher than usual.

“Were you?” Harry continues in that same cool tone that’s driving Louis insane. “Because I was thinking about watching a film, and I could use your help.”

A frown flickers across Louis’s face, and he bites down harder on his lip. What is Harry getting at? “Alright,” he says.

Harry makes him wait a few more tense minutes before he puts his phone in his pocket and stands up from the table. Harry can feel the nerves start to bubble up in his stomach, but just like last night, he pushes through them and tries to feign confidence. Louis needs this from him, so he can do it, and he’s been planning everything out in his head all day. 

He guides Louis into the living room with a hand on his lower back, and Louis just walks silently. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Harry sits down stiffly on the couch.

“Take your clothes off, please.”

Louis is still chewing away at his lower lip, making it swollen and tender. He drops his head and avoids Harry’s gaze as he begins undressing, pulling his sweater over his head and stepping out of his trousers and pants, leaving them in a little pile on the floor.

“Fold them and put them on the coffee table,” Harry instructs, a warning edge to his voice that keeps Louis from rolling his eyes.

Louis drops to his knees and folds the clothes up as neat as he can manage while Harry watches. There’s a long silence after he finishes, and he shifts uncomfortably on the carpet. Harry takes a deep breath, trying to keep it quiet, but Louis notices.

“I want you to go upstairs,” Harry says finally. “Bring me down our travel bag.” 

There’s no doubt in his mind as to which travel bag Harry is referring to, so Louis immediately stands and goes up to their room, shivering a bit in his nakedness. He finds the black leather Tom Ford bag tucked in the closet, unopened since Los Angeles because of their fight in Sydney. They hadn’t gotten to use its contents properly in Los Angeles, either. Thinking about what’s inside, anxious goose bumps spread across his skin as he carries the bag back down to Harry.

When he comes back into the living room, Harry has moved the coffee off to the side and is seated again. Louis places the bag next to Harry on the couch, and then hesitates, waiting for his next instruction. 

“Please go get me a glass of ice water,” Harry says, not moving his eyes from the television screen. “In one of the heavy tumblers. And grab that shopping bag I came home with, the brown one on the counter. Do not open it.”

Louis grinds his teeth a little, holding in a retort. As much as he wants—no, _needs_ —to submit to Harry for his own well-being, taking these sorts of commands is still challenging. Spinning on his heel, he marches into the kitchen to find the thick-bottomed glass Harry specified, filling it with a few ice cubes and, rebelliously, tap water. Then he grabs the little shopping bag, resisting the strong urge to peek inside, and goes back to Harry.

“On your knees,” Harry says as he takes the bag but leaves Louis holding the drink. Louis drops to his knees directly in front of Harry, since there’s plenty of room with the coffee table out of the way, and holds the glass in both hands in his lap.

Harry’s the one chewing nervously on his lip now as he pulls out something wrapped in tissue paper from the bag. He wants to speak, but he knows he can’t break this dominant façade by asking Louis a million times if he really wants this. If Louis didn’t want this in any way, he would say so. Harry knows this, deep down.

“I picked this up on my way home,” he finally says, tearing the tissue paper with a fingernail and pulling out a dark circular object. “I thought it might, um, help you get in the right mindset.”

Louis squints a little as he tries to see what Harry’s bought for him. When he finally recognizes what it is, it feels like all the oxygen in the room has been sucked out. He sways a little, blood pounding in his ears and, surprisingly, down to his cock. Harry moves the rest of the tissue paper away, and Louis hears a quiet whimper; it takes him a moment to realize that the sound came from his own mouth.

It’s a collar.

Harry’s hands are trembling just slightly as he unbuckles the simple black leather collar and holds it out to Louis, watching for his reaction so carefully. Any hint that Louis doesn’t want it and Harry will stop immediately. But Louis locks eyes with him, only a thin ring of vibrant blue around his dilated pupils, and then pointedly tips his head back to bear his throat.

The sight is so hot that Harry has to restrain from rubbing himself through his jeans. Instead, he wraps the collar around Louis’s neck and buckles it tight, knowing it’ll loosen up a little when Louis’s drops his chin back down. He can’t resist leaning in and kissing along the edge of the collar, over Louis’s Adam’s apple, breathing in the scent of the leather. 

After a minute Harry forces himself to pull away, but not before pressing one last quick kiss to Louis’s mouth. “That looks so good on you,” he whispers roughly as Louis finally straightens his neck. The light from the lamp beside the couch is throwing hard shadows, and the contour of Louis’s collarbone has Harry fighting not to cover the spot in bruises. He just wants to worship his boyfriend’s body like he’s been trained, but that’s not what tonight is about. At least, not yet.

Still shaking a bit, his adrenaline pumping at full force, Harry reaches for the bag Louis brought from their room and unzips it. He digs around in it a bit, contemplating what to use and purposefully taking his time just to make Louis sweat. Finally his hand emerges, clutching the red ball gag Louis had used on him briefly back in Los Angeles.

He holds it by the straps so the ball is only an inch from Louis’s mouth. “Open.”

Louis licks his lips nervously, his eyes darting up to Harry’s face and then back down to the gag. When he swallows, he can feel the tightness of the collar.

“M’not gonna ask you again.” 

Louis’s never heard Harry take such an authoritative tone, and it sends a thrilling jolt down his spine. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth with a sharp breath in through his nose. Harry pushes the ball in between Louis’s teeth and reaches around behind his head to buckle the straps.

Harry palms himself a little over his jeans as he surveys Louis. The older boy looks absolutely incredible kneeling naked on the floor, still holding the glass in his lap, the collar dark around his pale throat and his lips stretched around the gag. Only after a few minutes does Louis crack open a nervous eye, feeling Harry’s unwavering gaze on him.

Moving quickly before he loses his nerve—or comes in his jeans—Harry grabs the remote stuck in between the couch cushions and turns on the television. He reaches down and takes the glass of ice water from Louis, having to practically pry it out of his clenched fingers. 

“Hands and knees now,” he orders, trying to keep his tone firm.

Louis huffs out his nose but does as he’s told, backing away from the couch a little so he can put his hands flat on the floor, his head between Harry’s shins.

“No,” Harry says, causing Louis to glance up. Harry moves his finger in a circle, indicating that Louis should turn. “Sideways, please.” 

Louis shuffles on the carpet, rotating so that his spine is parallel with the couch. There’s already spit building up his mouth behind the gag, and he tries hard to swallow some of it down, past the tightness of the collar. The feeling makes him lightheaded.

He hears Harry shifting beside him on the couch, and suddenly there’s a heavy weight on his lower back. He grunts, stiffening his elbows to stay upright, glancing sideways to try and figure out what’s going on.

That’s when he realizes that Harry’s using him as a footrest.

“Oh, look!” Harry says, his tone excited and sounding more like his usual self. “ _Elf_ is on! And it only started a few minutes ago.” He clicks the remote and Will Ferrell’s voice fills the living room.

Louis struggles to breathe evenly through his nose as he wraps his mind around what’s happening. Harry had collared and gagged him and is now using him as human furniture. Simple enough, but his head is reeling with it. He shifts a little, trying to get comfortable and realizing quickly that there’s no comfort to be found. The spot on his palm that he’d sliced with the broken phone last night is stinging under the pressure.

An unexpected pressure on his upper back makes him jerk, and Harry makes a tutting sound. “Don’t move, baby, or you’ll spill my drink,” he warns as he settles the heavy glass tumbler between Louis’s shoulder blades.

Louis feels like time is standing still as the shock of what’s happening hits him again and again. The buckles on Harry’s leather boots are digging into the bumps of his spine, but that doesn’t compare to the burn of the icy glass against his skin.

“Being so good, Lou,” Harry says. Louis feels like he’s underwater, Harry’s voice hardly reaching him. 

After a few minutes, he’s able to listen to the television a little, desperately trying to concentrate on the dialogue to distract himself from the pain. Harry makes him jump again and lose his focus, though, when he picks up the glass to take a sip and then places it back down on the same spot.

Louis whines high in his throat when the condensation on the glass starts to pool on his skin, following the curve of his spine and dripping down the sides of his neck. Goose bumps burst over his body, making him shudder, the ice clinking in the tumbler. Harry twists his body so he can run a soothing hand through Louis’s hair without removing his legs. 

The movie is halfway over when Louis lets out his first sob. His jaw is sore, and he watches as strings of spit hanging from the gag between his lips drip onto the carpet. Locked tight, his elbows are swollen and aching, fighting for his attention with the sharp pain in his spine from keeping it rigid under the weight of Harry’s feet. His hands and knees have gone numb and tingly. Despite the frigid glass of ice water on his back, he’s flushed and sweating with the effort of staying still.

“New York City looks so beautiful at Christmas,” Harry muses aloud, feigning indifference even though he’s staring at Louis’s body instead of the television screen. “Can’t believe we’ll be there this year to see it.”

After a while longer, Harry finally picks the glass up again and drinks the rest of the water. He puts the glass down on the floor instead of Louis’s back, and when Louis realizes it, his elbows buckle and he falls down to his forearms with a groan. The position isn’t really any more comfortable, but just the little bit of movement gives him some relief.

Harry considers calling him out for his disobedience, but decides not to. He can tell Louis is trying his hardest, and Harry hasn’t given him an easy task. There’s only twenty or thirty minutes left in the movie, and he’s sure Louis can make it. He doesn’t want to take away the boy’s victory by ending it too early.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, reaching to rub Louis’s shoulder. “You’re my good boy, I’m so proud of you.”

Harry doesn’t watch the rest of the movie, instead chewing on his thumbnail and observing Louis carefully until the credits roll. He uses the remote to shut the TV off then, throwing them into sudden quiet. Only then can Harry hear Louis’s gasping, wet breaths. 

Very carefully, he lifts his legs off Louis’s back. There are deep marks in his skin from Harry’s boots, and he gently rubs his thumbs into them to get the blood flowing again. Louis lets out muffled cry, gurgling on the excess saliva in his mouth and lifting his head up briefly only to drop it back down.

Harry kneels down next to Louis and helps ease the boy’s aching body down onto his back. Louis’s eyes are bloodshot and full of tears, but he’s managed not to let any of them fall down his cheeks yet. Whispering praise, Harry starts massaging his shoulders and elbows, moving down his quads and knees, digging his fingers into the sore spots and listening to Louis’s noises to make sure this feels good and not worse.

He lifts a hand up to Louis’s mouth, and Louis thinks he’s finally going to remove the gag and let his throbbing jaws close. Instead, Harry scoops up some of the drool dripping down his chin, wetting his hand with it before dropping it down to Louis’s soft cock and starting to jerk him.

Louis groans weakly, letting his head fall back onto the carpet. It takes a while of Harry’s insistent stroking to make him hard, but he gets there eventually. That’s when Harry truly rewards him by lowering his head and taking Louis deep into his mouth.

There’s no finesse and no teasing. Harry sucks him right down to the hilt, relaxing his throat and fighting his gag reflex like Louis trained him to. Louis’s too tired to lift his hips much, but his muscles jerk appreciatively as Harry works. He cards a trembling hand through Harry’s curls once, the ache in his shoulder and elbow too much for him to do it again.

Harry stops sucking for a moment so he can slick up a single finger with Louis’s spit again. This time, he reaches between Louis’s legs and finds his hole, easing his finger inside him as gently as he can. Louis breathes hard through his nose but doesn’t protest, his eyes falling closed as Harry reaches the third knuckle and takes Louis’s length back into his mouth.

He moves his finger inside him, seeking out his prostate and rubbing gentle circles into it. Louis feels his orgasm approach much quicker now, Harry’s head bobbing up and down. He can’t find the energy to warn Harry that he’s about to come, letting out a feeble whine as his pleasure peaks and he shoots his seed down Harry’s throat. 

Louis shudders against the rug as he comes down, Harry sucking him through it. His muscles are jumping with aftershocks when Harry straightens up and finally, finally unbuckles the gag and pulls it out of his mouth. Louis immediately swallows and coughs and licks his lips, feeling self-conscious under Harry’s anxious stare. 

“I—wow,” he chokes out, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. Lifting up a trembling and sore arm, he wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand. It’s a useless effort though, because his chin and neck are soaked with spit. Harry catches his hand and looks it over carefully, making sure the cut from yesterday isn’t bleeding under the bandage.

“Will you be okay if I go get a few things?” Harry asks. He hates himself for not thinking this through properly, but he’s still so new at it. 

Louis nods, quite content to lie on the floor of their living room for the rest of his life. Harry stares at him for a few more seconds before standing up and dashing upstairs.

Louis doesn’t think Harry is gone very long, but he’s also quite sure he’s lost all concepts of time and space. Harry returns with the duvet from their bed and a pillow in his arms, as well as a dry towel and a wet one. Very slowly, he helps ease Louis’s battered body up onto the couch to lie down, slipping the pillow under his head. Before he covers him with the duvet, he uses the wet towel to wipe him clean of sweat and spit, the runs the dry one over his damp skin so he won’t be cold.

Louis’s struggling to keep his eyes open, watching Harry undress through his eyelashes. Once Harry’s stripped down to his pants, he shuts off the lamp and slides next to Louis on the couch, spooning him so Louis is securely nestled between Harry’s body and the back of the couch. He tugs the duvet over both their bodies.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, unable to keep the question in any longer.

Louis nods dazedly, and Harry presses hot kisses to his soft skin above the collar.


	10. Midnight Charity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is lots of feels and no porns. But Zayn's in it a bit!

****

**December 4—London, England**  

It’s pretty late by the time they finish filming for the Graham Norton Show, although in the bowels of a television studio, it’s almost impossible to tell what time of day it is. Harry’s still chatting with Ian McKellen when Zayn comes over to Louis and tugs him by his elbow off to the side. 

“Your place isn’t far, right?” Zayn asks, keeping his voice suspiciously low. He’s got a wicked little smile on that Louis notices right away. 

“Just a twenty minute drive or so, why?” 

Positioning himself so Louis’s blocking his body, Zayn digs into his pants pocket and tugs a plastic baggie full of weed halfway out. 

“Found a new guy who’s gonna hook us up when we’re in town,” he whispers, shoving it back down. “He gave me a couple samples. Wanted to try some out. You in?” 

Louis bites his lip, trying not to match Zayn’s smile. He can’t remember the last time he and Zayn hung out together in a non-One Direction setting, and he _really_ can’t remember the last time he got high. “Fuck yeah, absolutely.” 

He hears Harry’s voice carry over from a little ways down the hall, and it makes him freeze. Harry doesn’t want him touching even a drop of alcohol anymore, for good reason—how will he feel about weed? Louis’s pretty sure weed would never turn him into the abrasive, aggressive ass hole that alcohol does, but he doesn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize the newly established relationship between him and Harry. 

“I’ve got enough for Harry too, don’t worry,” Zayn says, noticing Louis staring. 

Louis sighs, an uncomfortable feeling starting to gnaw at the bottom of his stomach. “Let me talk to him first, make sure it’s okay,” he says. Zayn gives him a look—Louis’s never needed any kind of permission from Harry before—but he doesn’t press. That’s a quality in Zayn that Louis reallyappreciates. 

Right when Louis turns to walk toward Harry, Harry ends his conversation with Ian and starts heading toward the exit. In the second it takes Louis to realize what’s happening, he almost loses Harry out the door. 

“Harry! Haz!” he calls, pushing past Ian and following Harry out into the alley behind the studio. The pavement is damp and his breath fogs in the cold air. 

Harry is already leaning against a wall, sucking on his cross necklace and staring at his shoes. Louis comes up next to him but doesn’t know what to do, surprised by Harry’s sudden display of melancholy. Louis had felt especially great all day, still glowing from his scene with Harry the night before and a great night’s sleep. He had just assumed Harry felt the same way. 

When Harry doesn’t look up and doesn’t speak after a few minutes, Louis finally says something. 

“Love,” he murmurs, reaching over to rub Harry’s back and surprised by how tense it is under his shirt. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Harry mumbles around the necklace. His eyes flick up briefly to look at Louis, but Louis can tell in that split second that they’re looking at his neck and not at his face. 

Louis gently takes one of Harry’s hands and guides it to his own throat, letting the boy’s long fingers touch his black turtleneck so he can feel the leather collar underneath. Louis had worn it the whole day, refusing to take it off when they woke up. It had been a challenge to convince Caroline to let him continue wearing the turtleneck sweater he showed up in, but she’d been into dressing him in turtlenecks a lot lately anyway and also knew better than to ask too many questions. 

Harry’s lifeless fingers suddenly stiffen, grabbing hold of Louis’s turtleneck and wrenching it down so the collar is exposed. Louis stumbles forward a little with the force of it, bracing his hands against Harry’s chest. 

“I hate that you have to hide this,” Harry says, thumbing over the metal ring. The cross sticks to his bottom lip for a second before falling back down against his bare sternum. 

“Even if we were as out as Tyler Oakley, I’d still hide it,” Louis replies, trying to sound joking. 

This is apparently the wrong this to say, because Harry jerks the turtleneck back up and stops touching Louis altogether. He has a deep crease between his eyebrows, and his green eyes are darker than Louis’s ever seen them. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Louis pleads, but Harry just huffs and pushes past him, slipping back inside the studio. 

Shocked at that bizarre interaction, Louis lights up a cigarette and paces the back alley while he smokes. Had Ian or Graham said something rude to Harry that upset him? Had something happened during the filming that Louis hadn’t noticed? Had _Louis_ done something wrong without realizing? Maybe wearing the collar outside of their home was too big of a step. Harry’s still trying to get used to his new dominant role; maybe Louis had taken it too far too fast. 

He grinds out the cigarette butt under his heel and makes sure his turtleneck is pulled up fully before heading inside. He finds Zayn in wardrobe, trading his suspenders and dress shirt for the hoodie he had probably arrived in. 

“I can’t tonight, Zee,” Louis sighs, running a hand through his hairspray-stiff hair and wrecking the quiff. 

Zayn tugs the hoodie over his head and gives Louis a confused look. “Alright,” he says, but his voice goes up a little at the end like a question. 

“Harry’s in a mood, I dunno why,” Louis confesses. Zayn is the only person he’d ever talk to about this. Niall would hit him in the head and Liam would judge him, but he knows Zayn will always listen. “Do you know, did anybody like, say anything? During the show, or…?” 

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Zayn says quickly, coming over and putting a hand on Louis’s shoulder. Louis immediately stiffens, terrified that Zayn will see the collar underneath his sweater, but Zayn is only looking at his eyes. 

Louis stares at the funny little freckle next to Zayn’s left iris for a minute, trying to calm down. “Did Ian say anything, or-or Graham?” he tries again, chewing on his lower lip. All the acetaminophen he took that morning is starting to wear off, the soreness from their activity last night creeping back into his muscles. 

Zayn rubs his shoulder a little, and even though Louis’s nervous he’ll accidentally tug the turtleneck down, he can’t deny that it feels good. “Babe, you gotta relax,” he says. “What did Harry say?” 

Louis shakes his head, sighing again. He can’t exactly tell Zayn that Harry said he wished Louis could wear a collar in public, but he’s not sure that’s what Harry meant anyway. “It’s something about the closeting, it has to be,” he mutters, still gnawing at his lip. 

“Maybe it _was_ Ian,” Zayn suggests. Louis lifts an eyebrow, and Zayn quickly adds, “Not like he said something bad, but, you know, he’s a famous actor, and he’s… Out.” 

Louis swears, resisting the urge to smack his palm against his forehead. As usual, Zayn is more perceptive than he is, and Louis feels with absolutely certainty that his assumption about Ian is right. That _must_ have been what had gotten under Harry’s skin. 

“I gotta find him,” he says, taking Zayn’s hand off his shoulder but giving it a tight squeeze first. “Dunno what I’d do without you, Malik.” 

Zayn shoots him one his classic nose crinkling grins, grabbing a jacket off the rack and shrugging it on. “You want a spliff for the road?” 

The temptation is strong, but Louis shakes his head. “Save some for me though? We’re hitting like, five countries next week, I’m gonna need it.” 

Zayn nods, and Louis bolts out the door, glad his rush means he doesn’t have to explain why he’s not changing out of his fancy television outfit. He jogs around the studio, ignoring the pain in his thighs, asking if anyone’s seen Harry. He finally bumps into a terrified looking production assistant who stammers out that Harry left in a car about fifteen minutes ago. 

Louis gets his own car sent around, practically throwing himself in the backseat to avoid paparazzi and fans, and begging the driver to step on it. London’s choked with traffic, and it takes an agonizing forty minutes to get back to his and Harry’s flat. 

Once he gets to their front door, he hesitates. He’s admittedly not as good as helping Harry with his feelings as Harry is with his, but he has to do something. That dark look on Harry’s face in the alley is burned into his brain. He wants his goofy grinning, tripping, joking Haz back. And he knows that later tonight, he’ll need his dom back. 

He unlocks the door and lets himself inside. The house is quiet, and he finds Harry standing in front of the stove, staring at the teakettle like he can make it boil with his eyes. Harry doesn’t even turn or acknowledge Louis’s presence. 

Louis gets two mugs out of the cabinet, even though he’s not sure if Harry’s put enough water on for both of them, and fishes out a couple of teabags. When he puts the mugs down next to the stove, Harry still hasn’t moved. 

“Sugar?” Louis asks, even though he knows the answer. 

It’s like a dam breaks. All of a sudden, Harry hurls himself at Louis, clinging to his sweater and crumpling against his chest. His sobs are quiet, but he trembles and jerks with them. Stunned, Louis struggles to keep him up with both arms wrapped around his back, pressing soothing kisses into his curls. 

“Haz, everything’s okay!” he gasps. Harry seems quite finished with holding up any of his own body weight, so Louis slowly sinks them both down to the floor. He can’t help but wonder why the two of them always seem to end up crying on the floor together as he settles the younger boy sideways in his lap so Harry can tuck his head in the juncture between Louis’s neck and shoulder. 

Louis rocks him gently back and forth, quietly continuing to kiss his hair and forehead while Harry pours tears into his turtleneck. He has no idea what to say, completely taken aback by this sudden display of emotion. When Louis had cried in Florida about Eleanor and when he had cried in the bathroom after cutting his hand and when had cried during their long talk after the night Harry edged him (bloody hell, he’d been crying a lot lately), Harry was patient and kind and just _listened_. Louis is determined to do the same for him, even though his heart feels like it’s going to hammer right through his ribs. 

After a few minutes, the teakettle starts whistling, so Louis awkwardly reaches up behind him to turn the knob that shuts the stove off. It takes a while for the shrill whistle to die down, but the sound seems to have jolted Harry out of his hysteria a bit. His fingers finally untangle from the front of Louis’s sweater, pressing flat against his chest instead, and his sobs die down to hiccups. 

Louis gently moves a few pieces of hair off of Harry’s cheeks, stuck down in his tear tracks. “Please,” he whispers, unable to take not knowing any longer. “Please tell me what’s wrong, baby.” 

“I-I don’t know…” Harry voice is barely there, it’s so rough and low from crying. His fingers slide up until they reach Louis’s turtleneck, pulling it down so he can trace the leather collar like he had in the studio alley. 

“Did something happen?” Louis presses, scared to upset Harry further but needing some answers. “Did someone say something to you?” 

Harry tucks a few fingers underneath the collar, and Louis tries not to let it show how much that makes the leather press into his windpipe. 

“Did you,” Harry starts, but he has to clear his throat and swallow before continuing. “Did you hear Ian talking about what he does? With school children?” 

Louis frowns, stretching out his neck a little to urge Harry to let of the collar so he can speak. “About… About telling them to be nice to each other, and all that?” 

A few more tears streak down Harry’s swollen cheeks, and Louis kisses them away. “Yes,” he whispers. He takes a shaky, gasping breath before the words start tumbling out. “He goes to schools and talks to kids and he has a whole foundation and he was telling me more about it after the show and he—he really helps people, Lou! He uses his fame to really help people.” 

“You help people, too, Haz,” Louis reminds him gently. “Everyone knows the story about you buying all those pizzas and handing them out to the homeless.” 

Harry lets out an anguished noise that makes Louis’s stomach twist. “That’s not the same!” His chest heaves with new sobs now, and Louis mentally kicks himself for setting Harry off again. “I-I want to be able to do that. To do what he does. I want to be able to g-go to schools and talk to kids about bullying and…and LGB rights.” 

Louis bites his lip. So _that’s_ what this is about. Zayn was right after all. But what can Louis possibly say to make this better? Until their contract ends and they can finally come out of the closet, helping teach kids about LGB rights is the last thing Harry’s going to be allowed to do. 

He holds Harry tighter to him, even though his legs are starting to lose feeling under the boy’s weight. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, unable to think of a single other thing to say. “I’m so sorry, Haz.” 

They stay like that on the kitchen floor for a while longer, just clinging to each other while Harry cries himself out and the teakettle goes cold. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

It’s late when they finally climb into bed together, teeth brushed and faces washed, both dressed in jogging bottoms and t-shirts because the bedroom is chilly. When Louis settles down on his side and waits for Harry to snuggle into his preferred position of little spoon, he’s surprised to see Harry sitting up against the headboard and hugging his knees. 

“We have to go to Stockholm tomorrow,” Louis reminds him softly. “You should get some rest.” 

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Harry says bitterly. “Can’t say I’m feeling much of that these days.”

Louis makes a low noise of agreement, quite certain he’s never felt less affection for their jailors. “Come cuddle with me, love.” 

Harry just sighs and drops his chin onto his knees. His head hurts from crying, his eyes are still puffy and red, and he can’t get his thoughts to settle down enough to sleep yet. 

Disappointed, Louis rolls over with a huff and pulls out his phone. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Harry isn’t looking, he searches for Ian’s LGB foundation and makes a quick anonymous donation of a thousand pounds before grabbing a cold pillow to spoon. 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry nestles up behind him. “Thank you,” he whispers, kissing above the collar still secured around Louis’s throat, and Louis’s not so sure his stealthy philanthropic mission went unnoticed after all.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Louis wakes up a little after five o'clock in the throes of yet another panic attack. His heart rate pounding through his whole body and his breath coming in and out in gasps and wheezes, he sits up and rips the collar from his throat so he can try and breathe better. Harry is fast asleep beside him, completely wiped out by his emotional outpouring earlier, and even though his brain is hardly working right Louis knows he can't bear the idea of waking him up.

He slides quietly out of bed, his legs shaking so violently it's hard to walk, and stumbles out of the bedroom. He doesn't want to wake Harry up by using the master bathroom, so he lets himself into their hardly used upstairs hall bathroom instead. Doing this alone is a million times harder than he remembers, but he forces himself to strip off his clothes and resist the urge to kneel over the toilet and throw up what feels like a million moths fluttering around in his gut.

It's hard to convince himself to get into the freezing cold water; usually Harry shoves him in and he has no choice. Just the few rogue droplets that splash him feel like icy pin pricks, but he knows this is the only way to stop feeling like he wants to rip his own skin off. Closing his eyes, he steps under the spray, choking on the cry that tears at his throat.

It feels horrible, but the pain of the cold water takes over all his other feelings, and surely enough his heart rate slows and his breathing regulates.

The backs of his eyes prickle as he fights a sudden onslaught of tears. He doesn't want to go to Stockholm tomorrow, or the umpteen other countries they're scheduled to be in over the next week and a half. He doesn't want to deal with hotel rooms and prying eyes and body guards and management. He wants to stay hidden here in their flat, in his little slice of solace with Harry. If he can't keep his panic attacks at bay in their own home, how is he going to do it on the road? And this is only Europe—they're due out on a world tour in only a few months.

His mind is going out of control, almost manic, and he has to stay in the shower until the cold water hurts so badly he can't form coherent thoughts. Only then does he shut the tap off and wrap his shivering body in a towel, resisting the urge to collapse on the bathroom floor and forcing himself to dry off and pull his sleep clothes back on.

He drags himself back to bed, trying so hard to be quiet and not wake up Harry. All he wants to do is wrap the boy up in his arms and hold him, but if Harry wakes up it's going to mean questions that Louis's not ready to answer yet.

\- - - - - - - - - -

The alarm on his phone goes off two hours later, and Louis had never really fallen back asleep after his shower. He rolls over to shut it off, Harry stretching and groaning next to him.

"Morning," Harry mumbles, rolling over onto Louis's side and tucking himself against the boy's body. He frowns and sits up a bit, noticing the pillow is wet, his eyes moving from the dark spot there to Louis's still damp hair. "What—oh no, love. Another one?"

Louis nods a little sheepishly, not seeing a reason to lie to Harry.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I'm okay," Louis assures him, even though he feels too tired to even hold his eyelids open. "You were so upset last night, it didn't feel right waking you up."

Harry groans softly, dropping his head back down on Louis's chest. "This is all my fault. I-I got distracted, I didn't take care of you."

"What? No, Haz." Louis sits up with sudden energy, which forces Harry to sit up too so they can look each other in the eye. "This isn't your fault at all."

"Yes it is," Harry insists, running his fingers down Louis's cheek. "You've been okay the past two nights, we found what worked, I don't know how I could've let myself just go to sleep last night without—"

"No!" Louis says, louder this time. He grabs Harry's hand, clutching it against the side of his face. "You're allowed to feel emotion, too. You're allowed to have off days. You... I can't..." He swallows, feeling the absence of the collar acutely. "I have to get help with this."

" _I_ can help you with this," Harry says, his voice dropping to almost a whisper and losing almost all of its certainty.

Louis shakes his head, taking Harry's hand and kissing the knuckles. "That's asking too much of you, love. I'm... I'm going to talk to management today. There's got to be some kind of medicine that won't turn me into a zombie or whatever it is they're afraid of."

Harry's green eyes are shining with tears. "I'll talk to them with you," he promises. He leans forward and kisses Louis gently, their mouths soft and closed. "I didn't mind it, you know. Dominating you."

Louis smiles a little, tucking a stray curl behind Harry's ear. "You were good at it, too," he assures him. "But I miss your ass a lot." He reaches under Harry and squeezes his bum, making Harry jump and squeal. It's so much easier to deal with these things with a little humor, or at least that's how Louis's always felt. "Hopefully we can get this panic attack thing sorted out and I can go back to wrecking you in bed, hm?"

Harry returns his smile, kissing him once more. Louis's phone starts ringing again, his second alarm reminding them that they have cars coming in only forty-five minutes now.

Louis groans. "Time to go to Stockholm, I guess."

They both stand up, and Harry suddenly pulls Louis into a bone crushing hug. "Baby look what you've done to me," he sings softly in his ear, still smiling. Louis smacks him on the ass and sends him giggling into the bathroom.


	11. Midnight Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so freaking long, I have no idea what happened. But all the chapters have little collages now!
> 
> And I'm sorry, I know I'm in desperate need of a beta AND a britpicker, but I just don't usually have the patience to wait on somebody else before posting. So please bear with my mistakes.

****

**Friday, December 5—Stockholm, Sweden and Amsterdam, Netherlands**

Their day consists of awkward interviews with language barriers, a performance of “Steal My Girl” at the finale of Swedish Idol, and a lot of bad Stockholm Syndrome jokes. The city is beautiful but dark and cold in December, and they get no time to see any of it. They fly to Amsterdam that night so they’re ready to film RTL Late Night there the next day.

Harry’s full of Red Bull-induced energy on his jet, pretending to be asleep under a giant blanket in his seat so no one will bother him but really fighting the urge to jog up and down the tiny aisle. He pulls out his phone and starts iMessaging Louis for a distraction, thanking the technology gods for in-flight wifi. 

 _Whose hotel do you want to stay in tonight?_   

He stares at the phone for a few minutes until the little grey ellipses pop up to show him that Louis is typing.

_Don’t care love !_

Harry sighs. He knows Louis is completely exhausted after a sleepless night and a busy day and that he’s most likely trying to get a nap in on the plane. They had both sent a handful of emails to management trying to convince them to get Louis a prescription for something for his panic attacks, but neither of them had gotten much response. Harry imagines Louis must be worried about another miserable night in a strange hotel room, going through that vicious cycle of having anxiety about having anxiety. Even though Louis had expressed wanting to take the dominant role back, Harry’s not positive he meant it. 

_I want to play with you tonight .x_

The ellipses take longer to appear this time—so long that Harry’s convinced that Louis’s fallen asleep. 

_Yeah ?_

Harry’s sigh sounds more like a groan this time. Sometimes texting Louis is like texting a brick wall for all the response he gives.

_Yeah, so check into your room when we land and then come to my hotel, bring the TF bag_

_Okay_

Harry resists the urge to smack his head against the wall of the jet, reassuring himself that Louis is just tired and grumpy and not deliberately trying to piss him off. Rearranging himself under his blanket to get comfortable, he sticks some ear buds in and lets Sam Smith ease the rest of the flight to the Netherlands.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Harry and Niall are booked in one hotel while Louis, Liam, and Zayn are in another, on opposites sides of town with the studio relatively in the middle. It’s late, but there are still fans crowded outside the front when Harry and Niall sneak in the underground delivery entrance.

“Wanna grab a pint in the bar?” Niall asks on the lift up to their floor.

Harry bites his lip, glancing down at his phone. It’s probably not a good idea in general, not with all those girls lined up outside, but he’s also sent Louis three unanswered text messages since he landed and is getting increasingly worried.

“S’okay,” Niall says before Harry has a chance to answer. “Probably g’na close soon anyway. No idea what time it even is here.”

“Think I’m just gonna try and get some sleep,” Harry says, staring at his message with Louis and praying the ellipses will appear. 

“Call Zayn,” Niall suggests, and Harry glances up with a frown. Niall nods his head toward Harry’s phone. His blue eyes are warm and round and not at all like Louis’s, Harry thinks. “Call Zayn. He’ll know where he is.” 

Harry's chewing on his lip as the door to the lift slides open and they get out. The floor of the wing of the hotel consists of five suites, and even though Harry and Niall are only using two of them, they have all five booked out for privacy and safety. It’s not unusual, but Harry hates the loneliness and quiet of it. He misses family vacations with kids and parents running up and down the halls. He misses the old days when the five of them got to stay to together even more.

They walk down the hall in silence, both stopping in front of their doors and sticking their keycards in the knob. “Seriously, mate. Call him!” Niall shouts from inside his suite before the door swings shut.

Harry goes inside his own suite, flips on the light, and takes a look around. It’s decorated simplistically in all white, with accents of beige and light blue. Usually Harry would like the airy, clean aesthetic of it, but tonight it just feels sterile and cold. The bed has a beautiful wrought iron headboard, though, and he thinks wistfully of all the ways he and Louis could tie each other to it.

He drops his bag and climbs onto said bed, sitting cross-legged on top of the starchy duvet and thumbing through his messages with Louis again. 

_Just landed. Where are you?_

_My suite is 504E .x_

_Let me know when you’re on your way so I can get them to let you in the delivery entrance, fans outside!_

He considers sending a fourth text, but his fingers seem to pull up Zayn’s number without his brain telling them to. His thumb hovers over the call button.

“You’re being really thick, Harry Styles,” he mutters to himself before finally pressing down.

Zayn picks up after two rings.

“Hey,” he answers, his voice low and easy, dragging out the word.

“Hi,” Harry says. “Um, is Louis with you?”

Zayn giggles—straight up giggles—and Harry’s eyes widen. “Yeah, babe, he’s here.”

Harry can feel his heartbeat in his skull. “Where are you guys?”

There’s a scuffling noise and then another laugh in the background. “Our hotel,” Zayn answers slowly, like he’s not quite sure that’s the right answer.

“Can I talk to Louis, please?” Harry asks, fisting the duvet in his free hand.

There’s another strange noise, and Zayn swears under his breath. “Uh, he’s a little busy right now,” he says, and his accent is thicker than Harry’s ever heard it, like he’s not opening his mouth or moving his tongue any more than absolutely necessary. “Fuck, Lou, don’t blow it in his face, he’s gonna kill you. Pass it here.”

Harry’s frown is so deep it’s giving him a headache. Liam must be with them, who else would Louis be torturing. “Is that Liam? Give Liam the phone,” he pleads, rubbing his forehead.

He can hear their muffled talking as the phone is passed around, and then finally Liam’s voice comes down the line. “Harry?”

“Liam!” Harry nearly shouts, jumping to his feet. “What’s going on?”

“Zayn and Louis are getting high,” Liam says matter-of-factly. “And I’m trying to get them to shut up before hotel security comes again.”

Harry fights a very strong urge to fling his phone at the wall. Before he can say anything, he hears Liam tell Louis that it’s Harry on the phone.

“Ask him if he wants to go to the red light district tonight!” Louis shouts in the background before erupting into laughter with Zayn.

“Uh, Louis would like to know—” Liam says, but Harry cuts him off.

“Yeah, I heard him,” Harry snaps. “Well, you tell him there’s still an empty side of the bed here if he’d like to redeem himself.” His voice breaks a little at the end, and he hopes Liam doesn’t notice. Or maybe he hopes that he does.

Harry hangs up, not wanting to hear anything else. “Call Zayn, yeah, great advice Niall,” he mutters, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing himself not to cry.

After standing in the middle of the room for a few minutes, not sure what to do with himself, he decides to try to drown his feelings in the shower. Even though he knows it’s stupid, he sends Niall a text to thank him for his wonderful suggestion and tell him exactly how the other three are spending their evening.

When he gets out of the bathroom a half-hour or so later, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping, he nearly jumps out of his skin. Louis is sitting on the bed, hugging a pillow to his lap and looking distraught.

Harry’s eyes narrow as he gets over his shock. “How did you get in here?” he snaps, digging through his suitcase to find fresh pants.

“Alberto got me a keycard,” Louis says, and Harry notices that he doesn’t sound high at all now. Is that even possible? He hasn’t smoked enough times to know. How long had he been in the shower?

Harry’s quiet as he pulls on some navy briefs and a pair of grey joggers. He almost rips the joggers off when he realizes they’re Louis’s, but that would look a tad stupid. He stands in the middle of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Louis, and then at the ground when he can’t hold Louis’s gaze.

“Haz,” Louis whimpers, tossing the pillow aside and walking over. Harry stiffens, and Louis stays an arms length away.

Harry can’t keep the words in; he never can. “Why didn’t you answer my texts?” he asks, and there’s an embarrassing whine in his voice.

Louis sighs and drops his head. “We lit up on the ride from the airport to the hotel. You landed after us; I didn’t even see them.”

“Did you take a video of you guys smoking too, maybe send it to the Mirror?” Harry snarls, immediately cringing when he realizes his words and watches Louis’s eyes widen.

“I’m sorry!” Louis says, his volume growing with every word. “I’m sorry I can’t be like you! Sorry I can’t be Mr. Perfect, never had a bad word said about him, does no wrong, angel of the fucking band Harry Styles!”

Harry takes a physical step backward. “Louis—“

“No!” Louis shouts, his face red and his eyes wild. “I’m going through fucking hell and I can’t let it show, and you’re my boyfriend, you’re supposed to support me! This isn’t fair!” 

“Louis—“

“I take all the bad press, all the hate, all the _shit._ ” Hot tears are starting to roll down his cheeks, and he angrily brushes them away. “Management wouldn’t let me take medicine, you say I can’t drink, now apparently I can’t smoke either, because god forbid I ruin the golden boy band image of One fucking Direction.” 

“Louis, stop—“

“I’m the one who has to have a beard, I’m the one who loses control of his Twitter, I’m the one who everyone—“

Harry’s blood is roaring so loudly in his ears that he can hardly hear Louis’s rant. There’s a sharp pain in his hands where his fists are clenched and his nails are digging eight crescents into his palms. He can’t believe that after everything they’ve been through these past few weeks—the fights, all the subsequent talks about feelings, the sex and the scenes and all of Louis’s breakdowns—that he would _dare_ go get high and then come over here and blame everything on Harry.

He snaps.

With a yell, he reaches out and shoves Louis as hard as he can, sending him stumbling backward into the bed. The backs of Louis’s knees hit the edge and he catches himself on the mattress, wide-eyed and panting as Harry stalks over.

“Shut up!” Harry cries, and he’s never heard himself sound so manic in his life. “You shut up! None of this is my fault!” 

Louis raises his hands defensively, and Harry just grabs his wrists. He forces the older boy backward, pinning his arms to the bed above his head with one hand, both their legs off the side.

“You can’t keep taking this out on me!” he yells, making Louis cringe, their faces only inches apart. He wraps his free hand around Louis’s throat, gripping where the collar used to sit. 

Louis’s eyes snap open, bloodshot, the crystal blue sparkling through his tears. “Harry,” he wheezes, straining his neck to try and get more air as Harry’s grip tightens.

Harry doesn’t realize he’s crying too until the tears start dripping off his nose and onto Louis’s face. “You’re right, it’s not fair,” he growls. “None of it’s fair. But it’s _not my fault_.”

Louis’s trying to say something, but Harry’s fingers are pressing too hard into his windpipe for him to get the words out. His face is getting redder, his eyes wilder, and Harry finally loosens up. 

“Yellow,” Louis chokes out, sobbing. “Yellow, yellow, please…”

Through all his anger, the realization dawns on him that he’s gone too far and Louis is trying to color out like this is a scene. Harry feels the blood in veins freeze, and he lets go of Louis like the boy’s skin has burned him.

His stomach ties up in knots. This had not been the beginning of a scene at all, just an anger-fueled way to make Louis shut up. Harry never loses his temper like this, and he never, ever gets violent. What the hell happened? 

Even though all he wants to do is run and hide, he quickly climbs into the bed and pulls a gasping and choking Louis onto his lap, holding him as tight as he can.

“God, I’m sorry,” he whispers, stroking Louis’s face and hair and rocking him gently. “I’m so, so sorry, baby.” Louis is scarily quiet, just trembling with his face buried in Harry’s neck as he tries to regain his breath. Harry can faintly smell weed and smoke in Louis’s hair.

Harry feels sick with guilt, continuing to try and comfort Louis and waiting for him to say something. He’s not good at dominating, he’d told Louis that. He’d let his emotions get the best of him and made Louis color out. No, he hadn’t said red—Harry’s pretty sure he would’ve jumped off the balcony if that had been the case—but yellow was still bad. Harry had lost control.

They stay like that for a few minutes, letting their heart rates and breathing slow.

“Fuck me,” Louis suddenly whispers. “I’m okay. Just fuck me?” 

Harry frowns, certain he heard wrong. “What?” 

“Please,” Louis begs, straightening up but still having a hard time looking Harry in the eye. “I want you to take me. I’m green now. Please.”

Harry shakes his head, his wet curls swinging. “No, Louis, that wasn’t even a scene, and I made you color out, we have to talk—“ 

“I’m sick of talking,” Louis groans, dropping his head back onto Harry’s shoulder. “You were right and I was wrong and I’m sorry but I just want you to fuck me.”

“Why?” Harry can feel Louis’s eyelashes blinking against his skin.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want me to fuck you?”

Louis chews his bottom lip, trying to find the right words. “So I know.”

“Know what?”

“That you still, you know, want me. And still care.”

Harry sighs, wrapping Louis up tighter in his arms. “I’m so mad at you,” he confesses.

Louis hiccups. “I know.”

“But I’m mad because I care.” He uses a hand to press Louis’s head tighter to his shoulder. “I can’t believe you said all that to me.”

He can feel Louis fidget a little. “It…it just came out. I didn’t mean it, honest. Please fuck me,” he says, starting to sound more desperate. “Help me sleep tonight, Haz.”

Harry sighs. Louis played the ‘help me’ card, and how is he supposed to say no to that? “Lou, I just screwed up so bad,” he says, playing with the baby soft hairs at the nape of Louis’s neck. “I-I feel sick. I don’t know if I can do this.”

Louis shivers from Harry’s touch then shakes his head. “That wasn’t sexual, that was just anger,” he says by way of an explanation. “It’s different. I was being a dickhead.”

They’re going around in circles, and Harry’s head hurts so badly. “We can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep screaming at each other and blaming each other and then pretending nothing happened.”

There are a few moments of silence after that. Louis presses a few tentative kisses to Harry’s neck, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m getting Valium,” Louis murmurs, and his lips are pressed so close to Harry’s skin that Harry almost doesn’t hear him. “Management emailed me while I was on the plane. They’re gonna get me a prescription to take, just at night so I can sleep. Should be ready tomorrow.” 

Harry takes such a deep breath that it moves Louis’s entire body. “Oh, thank god.”

Louis nods against him, kissing his neck gently again. “Once I start taking that and start sleeping well… It’s going to fix everything. Everything will be good again. No more panic attacks, no more getting up in the middle of the night, no more being exhausted all the time… And no more losing my temper with you because I’m tired.”

Harry lets go of his tight grip around Louis’s body, tips backward, and collapses against the pillows. “Thank god,” he says again. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

Louis shrugs, settling on top of Harry with his clothed stomach pressed against Harry’s bare one. He rests his chin on Harry’s sternum, watching his face carefully. When Harry opens his eyes, he immediately locks gazes with Louis.

“But,” Louis says, and Harry’s eyebrows lift nervously. “I still need you to help me tonight.”

Harry nods jerkily, still overcome with relief about the prescription. “And you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“But we haven’t done that in so long.”

“Exactly.” A smile breaks out on Louis’s face, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and Harry can’t help but smile too. “M’gonna feel it for days.”

“I don’t even know if I can get hard right now,” Harry confesses. “I’m still freaked out.”

“Would watching me finger myself help?” Louis asks coquettishly, blinking up at Harry.

Harry huffs out a laugh, throwing an arm over his face in defeat. “Give me a second to get in the right state of mind here, Lou. I still want to beat your ass right now.”

“That sounds like the right state of mind to me,” Lou replies. He slides off of Harry’s body and turns so his head is down by Harry’s legs, then carefully stretches, arching his back and sticking his ass in the air.

Harry groans, reaching down to weakly swat at Louis’s bum. Grinning, Louis straightens up only to unbutton his own jeans and pull them down to his knees before bending over again. He spreads himself open with one hand so Harry can see everything, then starts playing with his hole with a dry finger. Harry watches, idly rubbing himself through his joggers and briefs.

“Could use a little lube here, babe,” Louis says suggestively, watching Harry over his shoulder.

“Is that so?” Harry smirks, finally pulling himself off the pillows. He grabs Louis’s hands and moves them away only long enough to spit just above his exposed hole, watching it drip down over the puckered muscle. “How’s that?”

Louis touches himself with a finger, feeling the slick spit and groaning as he rubs it around his entrance. He starts slowly working the finger inside, and Harry isn’t amused by how gently he’s treating himself.

“Come on, Lou,” he reprimands, smacking one cheek hard and making Louis yelp. “Get that finger all the way in.”

Louis bites his lip and forces his finger in deeper, past the second knuckle. When he glances at Harry for a reaction, Harry rolls his eyes pointedly.

“M’getting bored here,” he drawls, still subtly trying to get himself hard.

Louis looks annoyed as he straightens up. “Fine,” he snaps, yanking his jeans back up and redoing the flies. He slides off the bed and takes a few steps like he’s going to leave. “I’ll just go, then.”

Harry knows a game when he sees one, and Louis knows exactly how to rile him up. He gets off the bed too, grabbing Louis by the shoulder from behind and pulling him against him.

“I don’t remember saying you could go anywhere,” he whispers, his lips so close to Louis’s ear that it makes the older boy shiver. 

“Why don’t you try and stop me then?” Louis challenges, tugging out of Harry’s hold and taking another couple steps.

Louis’s got his attention now. Harry comes up behind him again, this time wrapping a firm arm around his chest and holding him tight. “Don’t think I won’t,” he promises before pressing a foot into the backs of Louis’s knees and wrestling him down onto the ground.

Louis grunts as he hits the floor, Harry working to pin him down on his front. Inside, though, he’s absolutely thrilled to have Harry’s attention like this, and, especially, his dominance back. But he loves the fight, loves the idea of Harry taking him forcefully, and he struggles hard as Harry tries to press his wrists into the small of his back.

Harry realizes there’s no way to keep Louis pinned and do everything he needs to do to fuck him. When he glances around, he sees that Louis actually brought the Tom Ford bag over with him, and it’s sitting by the door.

He can’t reach the bag from where they are, so he has to climb off Louis to go get it. Surprised to find himself free, Louis scrambles to his feet and whips around to see what Harry’s doing.

Harry takes the bag and brings it over to the bed, Louis assuming a defensive position and watching him carefully. Unzipping it, Harry starts digging through and pulling out items, dropping them one by one onto the duvet. Restraints, paddles, gags, sex toys, lube—enough for a very kinky orgy of twelve. Louis feels his heart rate pick up, dick throbbing in his jeans.

The last thing Harry pulls out is the collar. Louis had torn it off his neck and thrown it aside during his panic attack the night before, and he hadn’t known that Harry had found it and packed it away. He swallows nervously as Harry unbuckles it.

“Color?” Harry asks suddenly, and this time it’s Louis’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Green, green, all green,” he whines, dancing a bit on his toes as he waits for Harry to go after him again.

Double-checking that he has everything out that he could possibly need, Harry puts the bag back on the floor before standing up to face Louis.

“You’re wearing way too many clothes, love,” he says with a crooked grin, starting to circle him. Louis’s breathing picks up, following Harry’s movements with sharp eyes.

Finally, Harry launches himself at Louis, taking the smaller boy down to the ground with pure momentum. Louis grunts as his hip slams into the carpet, trying to orient himself as Harry’s hands grab at his hoodie and start trying to rip it off. He struggles wildly and ends up with the hoodie stuck inside out around his head and neck, his arms pinned up in the sleeves. Harry uses one hand gripping the fabric to effectively hold him in place while undoing his flies with the other hand and yanking his jeans down.

“Fuck!” Louis shouts, his voice muffled by the sweatshirt around his head. Harry has to let go of it to get Louis’s jeans down all the way, and by the time he rips Louis’s Vans, jeans, and Calvin’s off of his squirming legs, Louis’s managed to get the hoodie back on correctly.

“Fine, keep it on,” Harry grunts, standing up and grabbing onto the back of the sweatshirt and using it to haul Louis to his feet. He drags him over to the bed and throws his smaller body onto the mattress, sending the items from the bag bouncing.

Disoriented again, Louis flips onto his back just as Harry climbs on top of him. He’s got a pair of handcuffs already, and he starts trying to wrestle Louis’s left wrist into one of the cuffs. Louis curses and flails, so Harry places his knee over Louis’s bare junk and starts pressing down. 

“No, no, no!” Louis yells, screwing up his face in pain and stopping his struggles as Harry kneels against his balls. Harry smirks and quickly locks the cuff around Louis’s wrist, forcing his arm up against the elaborate wrought iron headboard and threading the cuffs around a rod. He has to press his knee down a little harder to get Louis to cooperate enough to restrain his other arm. 

Harry is panting when he finally settles back on Louis’s thighs, the older boy effectively secured in place. Reveling in finally having control, he slips his hands underneath Louis’s hoodie and drags his nails up and down his sides, making him squirm.

“Looks like you’re staying,” Harry teases, and Louis clenches his jaw.

Harry pushes the hoodie up farther, trying to get to Louis’s nipples with his mouth, but the stupid thing keeps slipping down. Growing frustrated, Harry yanks it up over Louis’s head like before, leaving it wrapped around his upper arms and covering his entire face. When Louis starts protesting, Harry pushes some of the fabric into his unsuspecting mouth.

The first item he picks up from the pile aside from the handcuffs is the collar. Even though the hoodie is still around Louis’s neck, it’s mostly hooked under his chin, so there’s plenty of room for Harry to secure the collar. He buckles it one notch tighter than usual, listening to Louis’s hitched breathing through the thick cloth.

Louis clamps his teeth hard on the fabric in his mouth when Harry starts licking and biting one of his nipples. They’re so sensitive, and the sensation goes straight to his cock, causing him to start to harden underneath Harry. Harry smirks, giving the same treatment the other nipple until Louis lets out a strangled moan.

Harry glances at the paddle he’d taken from the bag, remembering what it felt like when Louis used it on him, the sharp sting of the wood on his skin. He pinches and rolls both of Louis’s nipples while he considers using it, trying to picture actually hitting the boy bucking and writhing beneath him. He’s really not sure he can do it; he’s never truly spanked him before.

But then he remembers Louis’s outburst—the nasty things he had said in his anger, calling Harry the angel of the band and blaming all of Louis’s misfortune on him—and all of a sudden spanking Louis with the paddle until his ass is red and purple sounds incredibly appealing.

He slides off of Louis’s thighs and then grabs him by the hips, flipping him over onto his stomach. Louis yells in pain as his hands twist in the short chain of the handcuffs, the metal biting into his skin. There’s no footboard to tie his legs to, so Harry sits his full weight on the backs of Louis’s thighs to keep him from kicking.

“How many do you deserve?” he wonders aloud, trailing the paddle over the swell of Louis’s ass so he can know what’s coming. Louis immediately tenses, whining into the material wrapped around his face.

Harry tests the weight of the paddle in his hands a bit, smacking it down on his own palm. “I think I’ll just keep going until I feel you’ve had enough,” he declares.

He knows he has to keep his anger in check, and he knows firsthand how much the paddle hurts, so he sets a mental number of twenty just to be safe. Because of the hoodie, he can’t see Louis’s facial reaction at all, so he has to be extra careful. Making Louis yellow out again will completely shatter his confidence beyond repair.

“Ready?” he asks, and Louis just grunts in response. He lifts the paddle, trying to gage the best angle and height to hold it at, lowering it down and then lifting it up a few times before finally biting the bullet and taking a good swing. The paddle hits Louis’s right cheek with a satisfying smack, and Louis jerks and lets out a muffled whine.

 _One_ , Harry mentally tells himself as he watches Louis’s skin immediately start to redden. He lands the next hit on the other cheek to the same effect.

After he reaches ten, Louis’s ass is almost entirely discolored, hot red in the middle and pinker on the sides. Harry leans down to kiss the skin, feeling the heat under his lips and listening to Louis’s soft whimpers. After the brief reprieve, though, he starts in on the last ten, making sure to leave more time between hits this round so Louis can handle it.

By twenty, Louis is choking on screams and writhing underneath Harry, his whole ass bright red now with some purple spots around the center. Harry’s breathing hard and his adrenaline is through the roof, but he knows it’s time to stop. He tosses the paddle aside and gives Louis’s cheeks a quick squeeze, tearing a muffled shriek from him before helping him flip over onto his back again.

When Louis’s hands untwist in the cuffs, Harry sees the metal has left deep ridges in the boy’s skin. He feels a little guilty about that, but Louis seems much more concerned about his sore backside, arching his spine desperately to try and keep his weight off of it. Harry grabs his hips and forces them down so he can spread Louis’s thighs.

“Harry, please,” Louis begs, bending his legs and pulling them up to get his ass off the duvet and effectively exposing his hole. Harry shushes him, finding the bottle of lube and uncapping it, but Louis keeps going. Even though his voice is muffled by the hoodie and hoarse from his spanking, Harry can understand him. “Just want you to fuck me, Harry, _please_.” 

Harry drops the bottle, reaching up and tugging the hoodie up and off of Louis’s face. He can’t get it fully off without undoing the cuffs, so it stays wrapped around his upper arms and tucked behind his head. Louis’s face is flushed, his hairline damp, and his lower lip is puffy from biting it. He seems a little dazed as he blinks in the sudden light and tries to focus on Harry. 

“Color?” Harry demands.

Louis swallows before mumbling, “Green.”

Harry nods. “Good. Now that’s the last word I want to hear from you.” He holds up three different gags warningly. “Or else.”

He’s soaring on the power trip again, watching Louis’s eyes widen and his legs twitch. Come to think of it, this is the first time Harry’s dominated Louis and really been able to see his eyes. The night he had edged him, he’d blindfolded him, and the night he’d used him as a footrest, Louis had been facing the floor. Having those quick blue eyes on him now somehow seems to only add to the rush, and he realizes with a start that he’s already half hard in his briefs.

Harry picks the bottle of lube back up and slicks his fingers. “If you’d done this right yourself, we’d already be fucking,” he taunts as he runs a wet fingertip down Louis’s taint and swirls it over his hole.

Louis bites down on his lip to keep quiet, which he must have been doing under the hoodie during the spanking to have made his lip that dark and swollen. Harry grabs onto one of the boy’s knees and pushes it further up against his chest, giving him better access and some leverage before sliding one finger inside him. Louis immediately starts whining, opening his mouth to beg for more but shutting it when Harry shoots him a look.

“Good boy,” Harry murmurs, moving his finger in and out patiently. Louis squirms, curling his toes and throwing his head back, silently trying to ask for another finger. Harry just pinches his sore bum in retaliation, making Louis choke on a cry and nearly kick Harry in the side of the head.

After a few more minutes of teasing him with just one finger, Harry tucks his second finger in alongside it. He can hear the hitch in Louis’s breathing as his tight hole is stretched, but the older boy quickly adjusts and begins trying to rock his hips down to get Harry in deeper. 

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a crooked grin, his dimple showing, Harry carefully curls his fingers and starts stroking Louis’s upper walls. Louis bangs his cuffed hands against the headboard as he feels what Harry is doing, trying to prepare himself for the feeling, and then his entire body shudders and jerks when Harry finally runs the pads of his fingers over his prostate.

It’s amazing how much noise Louis is managing to make without the use of his voice, Harry thinks bitterly as he fucks his fingers in and out of him, stroking over the bundle of nerves every time. The metal clanging of the handcuffs against the iron headboard is giving him a headache, though, so he presses into Louis’s prostate particularly hard and tweaks his nipple at the same time.

“Quit that, or I’ll gag you anyways,” he warns, nodding his head towards Louis’s hands. He wants Louis to test himself, to try and stay quiet without the use of a gag, but he also wants that awful clanking sound to stop.

Louis’s cock is fully hard, curving towards his belly and completely untouched. He can’t thrust his hips up with his legs off the bed, so there’s no way to silently beg Harry to touch him. Frustrated, he turns his head, hiding his face in his bicep and letting out a strangled moan. He does, however, stop hitting the headboard with his cuffs.

Harry knows exactly what Louis wants, of course, so he works his third finger inside him instead. Louis hisses, wriggling a bit against the pain, but Harry quickly finds his prostate again and soon Louis is moaning in pleasure. Harry doesn’t stop until a bead of precome drizzles down onto Louis’s stomach and Louis’s hole feels less like a vice around his fingers.

When he pulls out, Louis lets out a huge sigh. Harry leans over and kisses him, running his tongue along the boy’s tender lower lip and sucking it gently. “I’m proud of you for staying quiet,” he whispers, and Louis just nods dazedly.

It's then Harry notices that the handcuffs are absolutely wrecking Louis’s skin. They have to appear on a television show tomorrow, and Harry can’t be responsible for Louis getting filmed with cuts on his wrists, so he finds the little key and unlocks them. The first thing he does is yank the hoodie off his freed arms and toss it aside, and then he flips Louis bodily onto his stomach.

Pinning the boy’s chafed wrists to his lower back with one hand, Harry uses the other to shove his briefs and joggers down to mid thigh and slick his cock up. He has to wank himself for a few minutes to get fully hard, but it gives Louis a little time to calm down, which isn’t a bad thing. Finally, he uses his knees to push Louis’s thighs apart, and then lines up at his well-stretched hole.

Harry starts pushing in, and Louis immediately lets out a long, low wail into the duvet. Letting go of his cock when he’s halfway, Harry grabs onto Louis’s shoulder for leverage, hooking a finger into the collar, and he keeps pushing until he’s in all the way. Louis is panting, his muscles taut underneath Harry’s hands, but he doesn’t say ‘yellow.’ 

They don’t do this a lot, and Harry isn’t cruel, so he gives the older boy a few minutes to adjust to his size. It’s a test of his willpower not to thrust; Louis’s tight, slick heat around him is almost unbearably good, but he’s terrified of hearing that dreaded word. So he waits.

Finally, Louis turns his head out of the bedding, trying to look at Harry over his shoulder. When they lock eyes, Louis’s teary and blue and Harry’s wide and green, Louis gives him a tiny nod. 

Harry’s hips begin to move, slowly at first, only pulling out an inch or so before thrusting back in as Louis’s muscles start to loosen up. Quickly, he picks up the pace, taking one of Louis’s wrists in each hand and pinning them down on the mattress beside his shoulders.

Louis can’t keep in a small noise with every one of Harry’s hard thrusts, but it doesn’t sound like he’s in agony, so Harry doesn’t stop. He gets sick of not having a good angle with Louis flat against the bed, though, so after a little while he pulls out and grabs the boy by the chest to haul him up onto his knees. 

Louis sways, disoriented, and Harry grabs him by the hips to keep him steady as he slides back into his hole. Louis’s back is fully pressed to Harry’s front, both their skin damp with sweat.

“You feel so good, baby,” Harry whispers into his ear as he resumes his punishing pace. He can’t remember the last time he fucked Louis instead of the other way around, and the feeling is incredible. Doing it this way, too, with Louis submitting to him instead of trying to top from the bottom, is a new experience that has Harry completely overwhelmed. 

He’s just about to slide his hand over and finally start pulling Louis off when the older boy lets out a broken noise and whimpers, “Please, please make me come.” 

Harry almost laughs, because it’s so like Louis to do so well for so long and then blow it right when he’s about to get what he wants. “Pretty sure I told you to be quiet,” he says, clamping a hand over Louis’s mouth and forcing his head backward until it rests on Harry’s shoulder. 

He keeps fucking him like that, feeling Louis’s panting from his nose against his fingers. The leverage is good this time, a hand over Louis’s mouth and a hand on his hip, both of them on their knees with their bodies pressed together. Louis’s hands are clinging to the forearm connected to the hand over his mouth, but he never tries to move it off.

Louis’s never come untouched before, and even in his sex-hazed mind he can’t help but wonder how the hell Harry ever manages to do it. The full feeling and the pressure on his prostate are great, but he _needs_ a hand on his cock so badly. He wishes he could beg for it, jerking his hips weakly.

“Get my hand wet,” Harry orders suddenly, and it takes Louis a minute to realize he’s talking to him. He quickly starts licking at the palm over his mouth as Harry continues to fuck him, moving his tongue over as much as Harry will let him, grunting into his skin every time Harry thrusts.

Harry finally moves his hand away, and Louis hesitantly lifts his head off of the younger boy’s shoulder. “Spit,” Harry says, and Louis promptly spits everything he can manage into Harry’s glistening palm.

Satisfied, Harry wraps his spit-slick hand around Louis’s cock, and Louis almost jumps out of his skin in pleasure. He lets his head fall back onto Harry’s shoulder, unable to hold it up as Harry’s hand reaches the same speed as his thrusting hips.

Harry gladly holds up all over Louis’s weight, feeling so satisfied that Louis is giving his entire self over like this. He’s fighting with his own stamina, though, unable to last much longer against his building pleasure. Louis’s body just feels too damn good.

“You gonna come with me?” he asks, his voice tight as he tries to stave off his orgasm just a little longer.

Louis just nods feebly, whimpering in Harry’s ear and arching his back a little further. Harry’s thrusts increase in pace but lose their rhythm as warmth floods through his body and his muscles tighten. Even as his vision whites out and his legs start trembling, he jerks Louis hard, making sure to bring him over the edge at the same time. 

Louis shoots across the sheets as Harry spills deep inside him, Louis's walls clenching uncontrollably around Harry’s cock. It’s almost too much, pushing Harry over the fine line between pleasure and pain as he goes oversensitive after his orgasm, but he keeps thrusting weakly to milk himself of every last drop. Louis’s shuddering hard in his hold, Harry thumbing over the beads of come dribbling down his spent cock. 

When he’s regained his senses a bit, still breathing hard, Harry carefully pulls out and settles Louis’s boneless body down on the mattress. After knocking all the restraints and toys he didn't utilize onto the floor, he collapses next to him. They’re on top of the sheets with the duvet falling off the bottom of the bed, but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it quite yet. Louis’s lying on his stomach with his head turned to Harry, his eyes half closed and his ribcage still expanding and contracting with heavy breaths.

Harry’s lying on his side so he can look at Louis, and he reaches over to brush the boy's fringe back from his sweaty forehead. Louis’s eyelids flutter closed at the touch, and he lets out a quiet keening noise.

After a few minutes, Harry reaches down and tries to pull the duvet over them, but Louis hisses in pain when the rough fabric rubs against his backside. Harry immediately jerks it back, his eyes wide.

“Shit, my hips,” Harry whispers as he ghosts his fingers down Louis’s discolored backside. His hips must have hit Louis’s fresh bruises from the spanking with every single thrust. “Why didn’t you say something? That must have hurt so much.”

Louis nods his head yes, then immediately shakes it no. “Didn’t feel it,” he mumbles. Then, “Felt good.”

Harry frowns, but every single muscle on Louis’s face and body seems to have relaxed now, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen his boyfriend look so at peace. The collar is dark against his beautiful skin, back where it belongs, and fingertip bruises are blooming on his sides to match the ones covering his ass. There’s come leaking out of his reddened hole, though, and Harry’s pretty sure they’re lying in a pool of it, too. He debates on going to get something to clean them up with, but he absolutely can’t bring himself to disturb Louis at all. He seems so calm and content, the exact opposite of how he’d been an hour ago. 

They’ll shower in the morning and no one will be the wiser, he decides. He shuts the lights off with a switch next to the bed, and then tugs the duvet over his own body and presses himself as close to Louis as he can without actually touching him. 

Louis cracks an eye open, seeking Harry out in the sudden darkness. Wordlessly, he coaxes Harry over onto his side and spoons up tight behind him.


	12. Midnight Creativity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, my goodness.

****

**Saturday, December 6 – Rome, Italy**

When they get to Rome that night, they lock themselves in Louis’s hotel suite this time. Filming the television show in Amsterdam had been fun, and they had been promised a few hours to explore Rome tomorrow, so they’re both in good spirits. Harry curls up on the couch with his phone while Louis sets about making hot water for tea.

“So, was it hard to sit during the show?” Harry asks, scrolling through Twitter. They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk after leaving the RTL Late Night studio, having been rushed into black SUVs, driven to the airport, and promptly shipped over to Italy.

Louis rinses the coffee maker out about five times in the sink. “Yeah, but…” He sighs and shakes his head, smiling. “Felt so good. I was replaying last night in my head over and over again during the whole show.”

Harry looks up from his phone, watching Louis move about the small kitchen as he dries off the coffee maker and plugs it back in. The older boy is walking a bit stiffly, and Harry can just picture the fresh bruises still darkening underneath his black Adidas sweatpants. He gets off the couch and comes up behind Louis, wrapping his arms around his middle and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

“You’re still gonna taste the coffee no matter how much you clean it,” he teases, kissing under Louis’s ear. 

Louis makes an annoyed face, but it softens when Harry starts playing with his waistband. “I know,” he groans, feeling Harry’s hands slide down his bare hips. 

Harry freezes, letting out a mock gasp. “Louis Tomlinson, are you not wearing any pants?” he scolds. 

Louis’s shoulder shakes with a laugh underneath Harry’s chin, and he turns to kiss the curly hair. “There is a very real possibility,” he admits. 

“My cheap whore,” Harry murmurs fondly, moving his hands further down Louis’s sweats to gently cup his ass.

Louis’s breath hitches, his muscles tightening. “Sore,” he whispers as Harry’s fingers rub into the bruises.

Harry continues, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to Louis’s neck and jaw as the coffee carafe fills with steaming water. When it beeps to announce it’s finished, Harry pulls away entirely, leaving Louis to grasp at the counter and catch his breath.

When Louis finally straightens up, Harry is standing next to him with a sly smile and a box of Yorkshire tea he must have dug out of Louis’s suitcase. Grabbing two paper cups from the hotel tray of coffee paraphernalia, Louis fills them with the hot water, sloshing a little over the sides. 

Harry chuckles as he tears open two tea bags and drops them into the cups, adding a packet of sugar to his own. “You alright there, love?” he asked pleasantly as he stirs it with a little brown straw, sucking the end and staring at Louis.

Louis rolls his eyes at Harry’s lack of subtlety, blowing steam off his own cup. “That old footage of us they showed, playing footy,” he says, suddenly wistful, putting the cup down and letting out a long sigh. “I miss that so much.”

Harry puts his cup down too, instantly pressing himself up against Louis, wrapping his arms around his tiny waist. “I miss that, too,” he promises, frowning. During the RTL Late Night filming, they had shown a clip of Harry, Louis, and a few others fooling around, playing football together late at night in Boston from a few years back. It had given him a twinge of nostalgia, sure, but Louis sounds downright upset now.

“They don’t let us do that anymore,” Louis says, his voice muffled against Harry’s neck.

Harry just holds him quietly for a few minutes, wondering where this unexpected melancholy came from. “Well, that’s true, but…” He pulls back a little so he can catch Louis’s downturned lips in a kiss. “There are still a lot of things we do that they can’t control.”

Louis makes a pained smile, so Harry tickles his sides a little until he’s properly grinning. “Like fucking each other into the mattress, for example?” Louis asks a little breathlessly.

“That is a perfect example.” Harry grins, parting their bodies so he can get his cup of tea and take a few sips. “Which we can explore further after tea.”

Louis nods, a passionate believer in tea-before-anything. He takes a sip from his own cup, but instantly pulls a face and dumps it down the drain. “Bloody disgusting,” he spits, the offensive tang of stale coffee on his tongue. “I can’t live in these conditions.”

Harry laughs, finishing half his cup before pouring it into the sink as well. “You should really travel with an electric kettle,” he teases, trying to tickle Louis’s stomach again. 

“You know I did!” Louis gasps, twisting to get away from Harry’s torturous fingers. “They confiscated it for no reason!”

Harry laughs again and loses his concentration, allowing Louis to slip out of his grasp and prance away. “Trying to melt Liam’s watch in it _repeatedly_ was not ‘no reason,’ Louis!”

“And it never worked,” Louis says, shaking his head in disappointment as he walks over to the bed. “They build those damn divers’ watches to last.” 

Harry’s glad that Louis’s sadness seems to have passed, and he follows him. Louis keeps his distance, though, wary of Harry’s tickling hands.

“So, about that mattress fucking—” Louis starts, but Harry cuts in.

“Did they give you the prescription?”

Louis’s jaw tenses, but he nods his head. “Yes.”

“And, um,” Harry mumbles, picking at the embroidery on the duvet. “Are you going to take it? Tonight?”

Louis reaches over and smacks Harry lightly in the back of the head. “Of course I am, don’t be thick.”

Harry catches his hand and squeezes it, rubbing his thumb over Louis’s knuckles. “Good boy.”

Louis shoots him a petulant look, but then breaks into a smile. The medicine talk is awkward, but they both hold so much hope in it. Certain that Harry isn’t going to try and tickle him again, Louis slides over next to him on the edge of the bed and tugs the neck of Harry’s jumper to the side, pressing kisses down the long, sloping line of skin from his ear to his shoulder.

Harry shivers, his breath catching. “Oh,” he whispers, and his eyes flutter shut as Louis tips him backward onto the mattress and straddles his waist, moving his lips along Harry’s collarbone now. After a few minutes, he helps Harry tug the jumper off over his head and tosses it to the floor, reattaching his mouth to the boy’s skin. 

“Marks,” Harry whines, but when he takes Louis by the hair and tries to gently pull him back, Louis only responds by sinking his sharp teeth in. Harry curses, writhing in pain but feeling the familiar heat in his groin as he starts to get hard. As much as he’s enjoyed his time dominating Louis, he’s missed this side of him, too.

Louis’s mouth moves lower, finding one of Harry’s nipples and sucking it, rubbing it with the point of his tongue until Harry’s arching beneath him. He pinches Harry’s two extra nipples, too, even though they’re less sensitive, grinning as Harry groans helplessly.

Satisfied that he’s gotten Harry sufficiently riled up, Louis sits up straight to take off his own clothes. Once they’re both naked, Louis settles back down on his stomach so can Harry can marvel at his bruised ass.

“Wow,” Harry breathes, ghosting his fingers over the discolored skin with one hand and jerking himself off with the other. It’s only been a day and already the bruises are a dark red with streaks of purple, and Harry can’t believe how much it’s turning him on to know that _he did that_.

Louis looks over his shoulder, smirking at Harry’s bewildered expression. His smirk vanishes, though, when Harry collapses down on his back next to him and spreads his legs. 

“What are you doing?” he asks slowly.

Harry glances over at him, mirroring his look of confusion. “Getting ready for you to fuck me?”

“I thought _you_ were going to fuck _me_?”

“No… Now it’s your turn to fuck me.”

“And how do you figure?”

“Look at your ass!” Harry exclaims, gesturing to the admittedly delicious but decidedly off limits swell of Louis’s backside. “Even if you weren’t all bruised, I’m sure your hole is still too sore after last night.”

Louis glowers at him, and then both roll onto their sides so they’re facing each other. “I think I’m a better judge of how sore my own ass is,” he snaps. He jabs a finger into one of the fresh hickeys on Harry’s collarbone. “And it’s fine. So why don’t you just get to it?”

Harry shrinks away from the jabbing finger, shaking his head. “You haven’t fucked me since, since…” He pretends to wrack his brain, screwing his face up in concentration. “Since I can’t even remember! It’s _your_ turn.” 

Louis huffs out a laugh. “I fucked you the night of the fashion awards, you idiot,” he says, moving his hand down to Harry’s fading erection. He strokes it gently, watching as Harry bites down on his lip. “That wasn’t even a week ago.”

Harry’s quiet as Louis’s hand keeps working him over, bringing him back to full hardness. “You,” he says, trying desperately to keep his voice strong as all the blood rushes from his brain down to his cock. “You just… You’re just a little bottom bitch now, huh?”

Louis’s hand stops moving, tightening reflexively around Harry’s shaft. He needs to propose a solution before this escalates into an actual fight. “How about,” he says slowly, not letting go of Harry’s dick. “Rock, paper, scissors? Winner gets to bottom.”

A grin lights up Harry’s face, and he sits up so quickly Louis nearly yanks his genitals off. “Just once, or best two out of three?” he demands, already pounding his right fist into his left palm like he’s warming up for the game.

Louis sits up, too, sitting cross-legged with Harry’s long legs stretched out on either side of him. “Just one. Let’s make this quick, I want you inside of me already,” he says, putting his fist in his palm as well. “Ready?”

Harry nods eagerly, staring at Louis’s hands, his erection standing up tall between his outstretched legs.

“Alright,” Louis says slowly. “Rock…paper…scissors… _shoot_.”

Louis thrusts out his right hand with two fingers extended for scissors, and Harry puts his hand out, palm up with his fingers wiggling in the air.

“The hell is that?!” Louis demands. 

“Fire!” Harry declares, grinning triumphantly. “Fire beats everything. Everyone knows that.”

“Harold, this is not an episode of _Friends_ ,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Fire is not an option. It’s rock, paper, or scissors. And you lose.”

“I don’t lose!” Harry insists, continuing to make the ridiculous fire gesture. “Fire wins!”

Louis bats at his hand. “Fine, we’ll do it again,” he says. “But you have to play it right this time!”

“Fine,” Harry echoes, sitting up a little straighter. “Ready?”

“Ready. Rock…paper…scissors…” 

“ _Shoot_!” Harry yells, putting his hand out flat for paper. Louis plays scissors again, and he opens and closes his fingers as though cutting through Harry’s hand.

“Looks like I win,” he says. “Fire? Honestly, Harold.”

Harry pulls a face before climbing on top of Louis and pinning him to the mattress. “You always get what you want, huh?” he asks, dipping his head down to mouth at Louis’s pulse point on his throat.

Louis grins smugly, tipping his head back to give Harry access to his whole neck. “’Course I do.”

“Mm, well, I hope you weren’t thinking I was gonna go easy on you, just because you’re all bruised up,” Harry murmurs against Louis’s skin.

Louis shivers at the promise in those words, rolling his hips up against Harry’s so their cocks rub together. After a few minutes of kissing and grinding, using that time to get himself into the right headspace, Harry straightens up and pulls away.

“Go get your collar,” he says, his voice firm and steady now.

Louis hesitates a second like he’s considering disobeying, but then he swings his legs over and slides off the bed, padding over to where their luggage had been piled. Harry watches his beautiful backside sway as he moves, the bruises so dark on his otherwise perfect skin, and it makes his stomach twist with arousal. He wants to bring Louis back to that place again, that magnificent place of incoherent whimpering and trembling, but he obviously can’t spank him tonight. He needs another idea. 

Louis returns with the big black leather bag, depositing it onto the bed and rummaging through it to find the collar. Harry takes it from him and unbuckles it, and Louis stays perfectly still while Harry fastens it around his neck over a few fresh love bites.

“Beautiful,” Harry whispers, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Louis’s mouth.

As much as Harry would love to just lie around and kiss for a few hours, they’re both too wired up for that now. This particular hotel bed has a thick wooden headboard with nothing to bind Louis to, so he’ll have to get creative. He stands up, motioning for Louis to do the same, and then gathers the big, puffy white duvet in his arms. He lays it out on the floor at the foot of the bed, doubling it up for extra cushioning.

“Lie down,” he says, pointing at the duvet.

Louis looks a little uncertain, but he gets down on the ground and sort of half lies down on the blanket, leaning on his hip so there isn’t weight on his bruises and propping himself up on an elbow. Harry digs out two pairs of padded leather cuffs with fairly long chains from the bag, since the handcuffs had left such bad marks the night before, and kneels down beside him.

Wordlessly, Harry begins securing Louis down. He buckles a cuff on one of Louis’s wrists, threads the chain around one of the metal bed legs, and then secures the cuff on his other wrist. He then does the same to Louis’s ankles, attaching them to the opposite bed leg, so the boy is stretched out on his side along the bottom length of the bed. This way, he can’t move, but he’s also not lying on his bum. Harry wants him uncomfortable but not miserable.

Louis’s chest is already rising and falling with his accelerated breathing, and Harry notices it. He pets the boy’s hip gently before standing up.

“Don’t move,” he says, chuckling at his own joke. “Just need a few things.”

Harry walks over to the suite’s full kitchen, and he can hear the chains rattling and the duvet rustling as Louis tests his bonds. There’s a fancy silver bucket on the counter for chilling champagne, and Harry fills it with ice from the freezer. He brings it back over to the bed, setting it on the floor beside Louis, and then digs through his suitcase to find a hairbrush. The final items he collects come from inside the black leather bag—two simple wooden clothespins.

Louis eyes flick from item to item, finally landing on Harry’s face. There’s a hint of nervousness behind the fierce blue stare. “And how are you planning on fucking me in this position?” he asks, indicating his predicament with a nod of his chin. “My ass is halfway under the bed.”

Harry gives him a sideways grin as he sits on the soft duvet, stroking Louis’s hair cautiously like he’s a stray dog that might snap. “I’m gonna fuck you _on_ the bed, love, that I promise. This is just the…foreplay.”

Harry gets down on his stomach, his face only inches away from Louis’s chest. He and the other four boys had learned early on in their time as a band that Louis’s nipples were sensitive, that the boy had always gone after everybody else’s in a defensive effort to shield his own. Usually, Harry doesn’t do more than lick and rub them a little bit to get Louis going, but tonight he plans on using their sensitivity to push Louis right into his subspace. 

He can see Louis’s stomach muscles tense when he leans forward and gently runs his tongue over a nipple. Louis immediately shivers and mewls, the nub hardening as Harry blows cold air over the wet skin. He does the same to the other one until Louis’s entire body is covered in goose bumps and both nipples are tight.

“Harry,” Louis whines, kicking his bound feet a little. 

Harry shushes him, wrapping his lips around one of the hardened nipples and sucking. Louis’s makes a strangled noise as Harry adds his teeth, biting down and pulling back lightly.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, jerking in his bonds when Harry uses his fingers to pinch and roll the other one. Harry has to fight against a smile so he can keep using his mouth.

When Harry pulls back after a few minutes, he notices immediately that Louis’s cock is fully hard now. He gives it a few teasing strokes as he pulls the silver bucket closer, reaching in and finding a single ice cube.

“No, no, no. Harry,” Louis begs when he figures out what Harry’s planning to do with the ice, but there’s still a hard edge to his voice. Harry only hears that as a challenge.

Holding the ice cube gingerly, wishing he’d thought to bring a cloth over to hold it with, Harry runs it along Louis’s exposed side. Louis bears his clenched teeth in a grimace, trying to roll over onto his back and away from the cold.

Harry lets him roll and struggle since he isn’t going to get far anyway, and if he wants to lie on his bruises, so be it. The new position only makes it easier for Harry to get to both his nipples, even those he’s a bit under the bed now. He switches the melting ice into his other hand, since it was starting to burn his fingertips, and circles Louis’s nipples with it. The boy’s skin erupts with fresh goose bumps, his nipples painfully hard and dark now.

“Fuck,” Louis chokes out, digging his heels into the carpet and trying to writhe away from Harry’s hands.

“Come on, be a good boy,” Harry murmurs as he presses what’s left of the ice cube against one of Louis’s nipples until it melts away. Then he ducks his head down and laps up the pools of cold water, his hot tongue a stark contrast on Louis’s skin.

“Harry,” Louis moans, bucking his hips when Harry licks over his freezing nipples. “I-I can’t.”

Harry’s glances up toward Louis’s face, taking in the wild eyes, flushed cheeks, and sweaty forehead. “You can’t what?” he asks softly.

Louis bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s not going to let himself ask Harry to stop. 

“That’s a good boy,” Harry praises, proud of Louis for not speaking. He really doesn’t want to gag him again; the noises he makes are too beautiful. He gives him a few firm pulls on his cock to show his approval, making Louis’s entire body shake.

Harry takes another ice cube and pops it in his mouth this time. After sucking on it to melt it down a little, he holds it between his lips and runs it over Louis’s nipples that way, pushing it along with his tongue. When the ice cube is gone it leaves Harry’s mouth freezing, so he continues to kiss and suck the tortured nubs.

Louis is shivering almost constantly now, his chains rattling, his nipples dark red and swollen. He’s lost most of his coherency, begging and babbling and cursing, but not once does he tell Harry to stop.

When Harry straightens up, he immediately finds the hairbrush he’d brought over. Louis’s eyes narrow and then widen as he realizes Harry’s plan, and, gasping loudly in panic, he tries to roll over onto his stomach. Now, the pleading words come out, a jumbled mix of “please,” “no,” and “don’t.”

Harry takes him by the hip and turns him back onto his side, moving his hand down to grip his balls. “Stay still,” he demands, tightening his fingers warningly.

Louis’s practically wheezing in terror, his arms pulling down hard against his cuffs. The hairbrush Harry chose is wooden, some fancy boar bristle creation that Lou had insisted he buy and use on his curls to prevent breakage, and he runs his thumb over it to feel the sensation. It’s rough and prickly and bound to feel like hell against Louis’s already sore and tender nipples. 

“You’re okay, babe,” Harry says soothingly, although he doesn’t release his hold on Louis’s balls. Knowing he’s only going to be able to do this a few times before Louis breaks, he carefully presses the brush above one of Louis’s nipples and slowly drags it down. 

Louis lets out a hoarse shout, his toes curling in pain as the bristles scratch over his aching nipple. Harry doesn’t waste anytime before repeating the motion over the other nipple, tearing another cry from Louis’s throat. Louis starts thrashing, but Harry’s grip on his balls keeps from turning onto his stomach. 

He slides the brush from left to right next, over both nipples, and then after a brief pause, from right to left. Louis’s eyes fill with tears, and when Harry brushes an X over his left nipple, his cringe sends the tears streaking down his cheeks. 

“Alright, love,” Harry murmurs, tossing the brush aside and bending down to kiss Louis’s trembling lower lip. “You’re done, you did it, took that so well.”

Louis’s panting hard, sobbing every couple of breaths as Harry starts unbuckling the padded cuffs from around his ankles and wrists. When he’s free, he slowly curls up into a ball on his side, like he’s making one last effort to shield his chest. Harry just slides in behind him, spooning the smaller body and rubbing his upper arm. 

“A-are you still going to fuck me?” Louis asks after a few minutes, and Harry almost bursts out laughing. 

“Yes,” he replies, kissing the back of Louis’s neck under his collar. “But on one condition.” 

Louis groans even as he shivers from Harry’s lips. “What?”

Harry almost feels bad asking for it, but he knows Louis craves the subspace. And besides, he had been the one who changed the rules on rock, paper, scissors. “The clothespins,” he says.

He can feel Louis’s entire body tense in his embrace. “They’ll—they’ll hurt,” he stammers out. 

“I know,” Harry whispers, nuzzling his hair. “But then I’ll fuck you.”

After a few moments of silence, the tension leaves Louis’s body in a loud sigh. “Okay,” he finally agrees. 

“Good boy. Go get up on the bed.”

It takes Louis a bit to stand up and carry himself on unsteady legs around the bed. He climbs up and lies on the sheets, since the duvet is still on the floor, propping his head on a pillow and waiting for Harry.

Harry finds the two wooden clothespins he’d set aside and joins Louis on the bed. Before attaching them, he strokes Louis’s cock again, spitting in his palm to slick it up and working him over until he’s fully hard again. Only then does he take one of the pins between his thumb and forefinger and carefully affix it to Louis’s tortured nipple. 

Louis’s back shoots off the bed in a violent arch, his hands fisting the sheets, a silent scream caught in his throat, and Harry makes quick work of fastening the other clothespin. It’s a few agonizing seconds until Louis drops back down onto the mattress with his chest heaving and Harry’s hand stroking his cock again.

“Hurts,” he mumbles, blue eyes glazed over and red rimmed.

“I know, beautiful,” Harry says, thumbing over Louis’s slit.

Once Louis’s had some time to adjust to the pain, Harry nudges his legs until he plants his feet on the bed and spreads them wide. Harry then lubes his fingers and slips the middle one past Louis’s tight entrance, immediately curling it and looking for Louis’s prostate. He knows he has to amp up the pleasure to keep Louis present. He keeps jerking Louis’s as he fingers him, knowing he’s found the right spot when Louis’s cock pulses hard in his hand and he lets out a shaky groan. 

“Harry,” Louis begs, and Harry slips a second finger alongside the first. He thrusts them in and out, working Louis over with both hands in sync, making sure to press against his prostate.

When he’s three fingers deep and tonguing at Louis’s head, Louis starts mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like he’s about to come, so Harry forces himself to pull away. Quickly slicking up his cock, Harry lines up at Louis’s hole and begins pushing in. 

Despite the clothespins, Louis’s body is loose and pliant, and Harry slides inside him with relative ease. He doesn’t give him any time to adjust, immediately pulling out and thrusting back in, building up a rhythm that has beads of sweat gathering at the small of his back.

Weakly, Louis lifts his arms and grabs onto Harry’s shoulders, tugging him down. Harry scrambles to get his hands out in time, catching himself on the bed before he lands right on Louis’s pinned nipples. Louis doesn’t seem to notice, though, craning his neck to try and catch Harry’s mouth with his own.

Harry drops his head so they can kiss, licking into Louis’s slack mouth as he pounds into him. He moves his lips, kissing along Louis’s jaw and neck, over the collar and down to his nipples. He can feel Louis clench around him as he licks beside the clothespin, running the point of his tongue over the pinched nub.

Eventually he moves his mouth back up to give Louis one last heated kiss before straightening. He takes the boy’s cock back in hand, jerking him roughly as his hips pick up speed, slamming against Louis’s bruised ass.

“Tell me when you’re gonna come,” Harry orders, shoving his own damp curls off his forehead.

Louis looks absolutely wrecked, his arms splayed out over the white sheets, eyes glassy and unfocused, lips shiny with spit, wearing only the collar and clothespins and a few love bites. He can feel his pleasure building though, overcoming the sharp pain in his nipples and making his eyes fill with tears as heat pools low in his belly.

“Now,” is all he manages to choke out.

Harry moves quickly, letting go of Louis’s cock only long enough to pull both clothespins off his nipples. The sound Louis makes is animalistic as pain rips though his chest and Harry jerks him to orgasm simultaneously, the agony making the pleasure that much more intense as he coats his stomach with thick ropes of come. 

Ears ringing from Louis’s scream, Harry uses the boy’s clenching hole to get himself off, spilling deep inside him. By the time he pulls out, Louis’s gone completely limp, his eyes closed and his mouth open. If his chest wasn’t rising and falling, Harry would’ve been sure he’d killed him.

Harry collapses down beside him, letting his own breathing even out for a second. Louis’s poor nipples look so discolored and puffy, but Harry doesn’t dare go near them even with a soothing touch. He eventually peels himself out of bed to wet a cloth, and when he comes back to bed, Louis is a little more coherent.

“You alright?” Harry asks, gently wiping the come from Louis’s stomach and cock. He taps Louis’s thighs until he spreads them so Harry can clean up the come leaking from his entrance, too. 

Louis nods, taking a deep breath. “You sure got creative tonight,” he tries to joke, his voice barely there. 

“Shh, don’t talk anymore,” Harry says, but he can’t help but smile a little. “Where’s your medicine? Just take that, and then we’ll go to bed.”

Louis’s too exhausted to argue about how he doesn’t really need the medicine after Harry’s treatment, but he indicates his suitcase with a weak wave of his hand. It takes Harry a few minutes to dig out the prescription bottle, but he returns with a small white pill and a bottle of water.

Harry puts the pill on his tongue and helps him take a sip of water, watching the collar move when he swallows.

Harry grabs the duvet off the floor and lays it back out on the bed, over Louis's body. “Roll on your side, babe, that must hurt,” Harry murmurs, trying to coax Louis over.

Louis makes an unhappy little sound as he’s rolled. “Don’t feel it,” he insists, his voice barely above a whisper. Harry goes to slide in behind him, but Louis promptly uses the last of his energy to flip over so he can be in his preferred position as big spoon. He sucks in a breath when his nipples press into Harry’s back, but he’s so far up in his head that he can hardly feel that either.

“Sure you’re okay?” Harry asks after a few minutes of silence, still needing reassurance as a new dom that he hadn’t gone too far.

“Mmm,” Louis hums against the back of his neck.

“When in Rome,” Harry chirps, and Louis thinks he’s lucky that Louis doesn’t have enough energy to punch him.


	13. Midnight Demands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a whole week to write! Hope it was worth the wait.

****

**Friday, December 12—Cannes, France**

After their appearance in Rome, they return to London for a book signing and the BBC Music Awards, only to immediately leave again for more award shows in Spain and France. 

The week is a whirlwind of interviews and performances, planes and hotel rooms, meet-and-greets and screaming fans, and Red Bull and headaches. By Friday night, after the Premios 40 Principales awards in Madrid, all five boys are at the end of their rope, but they still have to go to the NRJ Music Awards in Cannes to accept their International Duo/Group of the Year award. 

Louis is so drained when they strip down to their briefs settle into the enormous, fancy hotel bed in France that night that he almost ignores the barrage of text messages he gets around midnight. It’s only Harry’s insistent poking in his side and mumbled pleas to “make the bad noise stop” that causes him to actually glance at the screen.

_We’re sending Eleanor out to France to meet you tomorrow. The press will be ready for photographs before the red carpet_

_We’d like to get a few photos of you meeting her at the airport. Her flight lands at half one, so we’ll have a car at your hotel at one_

_Would also like you two to run into some fans at a restaurant before the awards, we’ll have more details on that in the morning_

Louis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes and reading the messages over again. They’re from a number he doesn’t recognize, but he knows it must be someone from management or PR. If the phone in his hand hadn’t been practically brand new, he would’ve pitched it off the hotel balcony. 

He doesn’t realize Harry’s sat up next to him until Harry places his head on his shoulder, trying to see the screen. “Who is it?” he mumbles blearily. 

Louis can’t find his voice. His hands start to shake, so he just gives Harry the phone and clambers out of bed. Stumbling across the suite, he shuts himself in the bathroom. 

When Harry knocks softly before letting himself in a few minutes later, Louis is leaning over the sink, knuckles white on the edge of the counter with the faucet turned on. He had thought the running water would drown out the sounds of his own crying, but the tears had never came. He’s just staring numbly at the water swirling down the drain. 

“Lou,” Harry starts, running a few tentative fingers down Louis’s bare back. 

Louis straightens up suddenly with a deep breath, shaking his head to clear it. “I’m fine,” he says, running his fingers back through his hair so it sticks up in every direction. “It’s nothing, Haz, I’m fine. Just tired. Let’s go back to bed.” 

Hoping Harry won’t press the issue, Louis pushes past him and walks back to the bed. They both slide under the covers, and Louis pulls Harry tight against him, clinging to the larger body. Harry strokes Louis’s right arm, tracing over the smattering of little tattoos soothingly. 

Louis can’t do this. 

He can’t spend a day with her, nice as she is, pretending to be in love and posing for photos and forcing smiles. The person he loves is right here with him, in his arms, and yet he has to make sure there’s another body between them at all times in public. He’s just beyond exhausted, and it feels like his defenses are splintering. Usually the knowledge that he has Harry behind closed doors and the promise of their future together is enough, but tonight, there’s a fire under his skin. This isn’t fair, this isn’t _right_. 

“Where’s my phone?” Louis suddenly demands, sitting up. 

Harry rolls over and points at the bedside table, eying Louis nervously. Louis reaches over and grabs the phone, typing something so fervently that Harry can hear the pads of his thumbs smacking against the screen. When he’s done, he tosses the phone somewhere onto the duvet and sinks back into the pillows with an angry sigh. 

Harry bites down on the inside of his cheek, propping himself up on an elbow and trying to resist the temptation to pick up the phone and see what Louis had done. “Um,” he murmurs, cautiously shifting closer to the other boy and tucking his head against his shoulder. “Did you, um…” 

“What, Harry?” Louis snaps, and Harry flinches. 

“Did you take your medicine tonight?” he finally asks, feeling Louis stiffen beside him. 

“No,” he says a beat too late. 

Harry plays with the edge of the sheet, wishing he hadn’t moved quite so close to Louis now. “You’ve slept alright the past week,” he continues, trying to sound casual. “Maybe you should, you know… take it.” 

Before Louis has a chance to answer, his phone chirps again. He digs it out of the bedding and unlocks the screen, squinting at the brightness. The way Harry’s lying on his shoulder, he can read it easily, too. 

_It’s not a request and it’s not negotiable. You know your contract_

Harry turns his head and tries to kiss Louis’s neck to keep him calm, but Louis sits up and knocks him off, already punching another message into the phone. 

“Louis, what are you saying to them?” Harry pleads. Panicked that Louis might be digging himself a grave, Harry makes a desperate attempt to grab the phone out of his hands. 

Louis throws a defensive arm up to stop Harry, and he accidentally manages to catch Harry square in the nose with his elbow. Harry jerks back in pain and surprise, clapping a hand over his nose as blood starts to leak down over his mouth. 

“Fuck!” Louis cries when he realizes what happened, immediately dropping the phone. He pulls Harry out of the white bed, flipping the lights on. Spotting a box of tissues on the bedside table, Louis rips a handful out and tries to get Harry to move his hand away. The boy’s palm is stained with blood, the red smeared over his nose and lips, making Louis’s stomach tie up in knots.

“I’m so sorry, Haz, I didn’t mean to,” he whispers, wiping his face off a little before pinching his nose with the tissues. Harry just stands there and lets him, cringing a little at the pressure. 

They stand there awkwardly for a few minutes, waiting for the blood to clot. Louis’s taken enough footballs to the face in his life to know how to deal with a bloody nose, but he certainly isn’t used to cleaning blood off his boyfriend’s face. Especially not when the blood is his fault. He doesn’t think he even hit Harry that hard, but the lining of the boy’s nose is probably sensitive from all the recycled airplane and air-conditioned hotel air they constantly breathe. Louis starts to fidget, not letting go of the tissues but shifting a little on the balls of his feet, the guilt eating at him from the inside out. 

 _This is_ their _fault, not mine,_ Louis reminds himself. He can trace almost all of his fights with Harry back to management. Even when the two of them are alone, management always seems to be there with them like a giant elephant in the room. And they had just succeeded in causing him to hit Harry in the fucking face. 

He moves the tissues away, checking to make sure no more blood drips out before leading Harry to the bathroom. He has the younger boy sit on the closed toilet as he wets a cloth, remembering vividly how their positions had been reversed back in London when he’d cut his hand on the broken phone. 

Louis gently scrubs the blood off Harry’s nose and chin and downturned lips. He wants to try and kiss him, but he can’t tell just how angry Harry is. He wipes down Harry’s hand, too, before running the cloth back under the sink to try and get rid of the stains. They don’t need hotel staff spreading gossip about finding bloodstained towels in One Direction’s hotel room. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, trying to get Harry to say something. Harry stays silent, though, leaving the bathroom to crawl back into bed and lie down. 

Louis wraps some ice cubes from the freezer in a paper towel before joining Harry, and he carefully places them over Harry’s nose. Again, Harry doesn’t fight him; he just lies there and lets Louis hold the ice in place. 

“Baby, you know I didn’t mean it,” Louis whispers, staring down at Harry’s closed eyes. “It was an accident.” 

He holds the ice there for ten minutes or so, switching arms whenever they go numb. Then he gets up to toss the ice into the sink and throw out the paper towel before rejoining Harry in the bed, finding the boy has turned over onto his side to face the wall. 

Louis feels like throwing up. He turns off the lamp and slides in behind Harry, tentatively reaching out to spoon him before deciding better of it and staying on his own side of the bed. He finds his phone, kicked down to the bottom of the bed, and shuts it off without reading any of the new threatening messages. 

After a few minutes, Harry’s soft voice breaks the silence. “Aren’t you going to hold me?” he asks. 

Louis jumps a little, then immediately wraps Harry up in his arms, burying his face in the boy’s curls. “I’m really sorry,” he mumbles. “Please don’t be mad at me.” 

“I’m not mad at _you_ ,” Harry sighs, flipping over so they’re face-to-face. He gently rubs the frown lines between Louis’s eyebrows with a few fingers. 

“You’re not?” Louis asks, trying to see Harry’s green eyes in the dark. “But… I made you bleed!” 

Harry shakes his head, moving his hand to trace Louis’s hairline. “I know it was an accident,” he says. “You clumsy idiot.” 

Louis rolls his eyes and leans forward, very carefully pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose. “I really am sorry,” he says again. He doesn’t feel like he can say it enough, after having to experience the horror that is washing blood off his boyfriend’s face. 

“I know you hate this,” Harry murmurs. “It’s not fair. I wish you didn’t have to do it. I wish I could do it instead.” 

“Wasn’t Taylor punishment enough?” Louis teases, but his smile looks more like a grimace. 

Harry groans. “Have you _seen_ her ass? I’m used to this,” Harry says, reaching behind Louis and squeezing a cheek with one hand. “ _That_ was truly the punishing part.” 

Louis snorts, so glad the tension seems to be dissipating. “I can quite confidently say that I have never nor will I ever look at her ass,” he declares, letting Harry grip his sides and pull him closer. 

“Good,” Harry whispers, grinding their hips together and kissing one of Louis’s sharp cheekbones. “Only looking at my ass, right?” 

Louis hums, tipping his head to catch Harry’s mouth with his own. “Only yours,” he whispers as they both start to harden in their briefs. He prays Harry isn’t starting something he doesn’t plan to finish, as it’s already nearing one in the morning. 

Harry slides his hand down Louis’s torso, slipping his fingers past the waistband and taking Louis’s cock in his hand. Louis lets out a soft, happy noise as Harry starts stroking him to full hardness. “If you take your medicine,” Harry says, stroking firmly, “You can fuck me.” 

“Oh, really?” Louis asks a little breathlessly. “Is your ass the prize now? What if I wanted to be fucked?” 

“You made me bleed!” Harry reminds him smugly. He runs his thumb in circles over Louis’s head, making Louis tremble and moan. 

Louis forces himself to wriggle backward a little, unable to think straight with Harry’s hand in his pants. “Gonna play that card, really Styles?” he says, but he knows he’s lost the fight. 

Harry just grins at him in the dark, working his own cock over now. “Yes,” he replies happily. “So go take your medicine and then get back here.” 

Louis grumbles something, but he gets out bed and walks over to his suitcase with his erection tenting the front of his briefs. Digging the little bottle out, he uncaps it and pours out a single pill before returning to Harry. He makes a big show of placing it on his tongue and washing it down with a swig from a water bottle before climbing on top of Harry’s thighs. 

“Such a good little boy,” Harry teases, grabbing two handfuls of Louis’s ass when the older boy starts grinding against him. 

“Gonna fuck that smirk right off your face,” Louis promises, leaning down to nip at Harry’s lower lip. 

Harry eagerly opens his mouth, letting Louis slip his tongue inside. They kiss heatedly, still rubbing their hips together, until Louis breaks away to mouth at Harry’s nipples. 

“Should I get out more ice, maybe a hairbrush?” he mutters, teething the nub a little roughly. Harry gasps, fisting the sheets, but he can’t help the smile that grows on his face. 

“You loved that,” he reminds him before gasping again when Louis switches nipples.

As much as Louis wants to continue being rough, tap into that not-so-old part of himself that absolutely wrecks Harry in bed, after how the night has gone he’s leaning toward just taking it slow and cherishing Harry’s body. So he stops using his teeth so much, instead just licking over Harry’s multitude of nipples and sucking them gently. 

Harry whimpers, releasing the sheets so he can put both hands on Louis’s shoulders and try to push him down lower. Louis lets out a soft laugh against his skin but lets himself be pushed, pressing his tongue against the hot head of Harry’s cock once he gets there. Harry’s hands move into his hair now, stroking it gently and resisting the urge to grab hold. 

“You wanna fuck my mouth?” Louis asks, his voice humming against Harry’s shaft. Harry bites his lip, but then he shakes his head and drops his hands again. 

“N-no,” he insists, his voice a little strained. “Want it to be nice. Slow.” 

Louis nods, glad Harry is on the same page. He would’ve happily let him fuck his mouth, but he’s in the mood for nice and slow, too. 

He takes Harry’s ankles and uses them to bend the boy’s knees, plant his feet on the mattress, and spread his thighs. Then he settles on his stomach so he can comfortably get his mouth on all of Harry, running his tongue from his hole, up his taint, over his balls, and to the tip of his cock. Harry lets out a shaky groan, subconsciously trying to open his legs further. 

Louis shifts up a bit so he can take Harry’s length between his lips, sucking him down a few times before pulling off to dip his tongue into the slit. Harry already tastes salty with precome, and Louis can feel the boy’s thigh muscles shuddering under his hands. He kisses down the shaft, stopping to gently suck his balls while stroking his cock with teasing fingers, watching Harry’s face as he whines and bites his lip. 

“More,” Harry begs, rubbing his sides to resist grabbing onto Louis’s head. 

Louis moves his mouth down lower, swirling his tongue over Harry’s rim. Harry gasps, trying to push down against Louis’s face as the older boy continues to tease him. Louis stops stroking Harry’s cock so he can grab the backs of his thighs, pushing them toward Harry’s torso, making his feet lift off the mattress as he’s bent in half. Harry hooks his arms around his knees to hold them there, glad to have something useful to do with hands. 

With full access to Harry’s entrance, Louis drives his tongue in now, working Harry’s hole open until he’s moaning uncontrollably. When Harry’s dripping with spit and Louis’s face is soaked, he starts easing a finger in and out alongside his tongue. Harry trembles, his cock hot and red against his stomach as Louis adds another finger and spread them wide. 

“Can I touch?” Harry pleads, his hair wild against the pillow, forehead shining with sweat. 

Louis automatically pulls back to tell him no, of course not, and don’t ask again or the handcuffs are coming out. But then he remembers he wants to do it differently this time, so as he curls his fingers to feel out Harry’s prostate, he gives him a small,  
“Yes.” 

Harry’s eyes snap open in surprise, but he doesn’t dare say another word as he lets go of one of his knees to get a hand on his own cock. It feels incredible to stroke himself while Louis fingers him, to keep himself on the edge as Louis draws circles over his prostate. He’s truthfully not sure Louis’s ever let him touch before. 

Smiling, not sure if Harry can see him in the dark, Louis drops his head back down to kiss Harry’s taint and lick at his balls. Sometimes nice and slow can be, well, nice. 

He has to use some actual lubricant to get a third finger inside Harry’s tight hole, which, as Harry well knows, hasn’t been fucked in nearly two weeks. Harry lets loose a contented moan as he’s stretched, and Louis pours a little lubricant on Harry’s hand too to slick his strokes. Even with that, Harry still can’t quite believe he’s being allowed to touch himself.

“Ready for me, love?” Louis asks, his three fingers moving in and out of Harry with relative ease. 

Harry is just lightly running his fingers up and down his shaft now, staying far away from a premature orgasm. He nods and smiles, letting go of himself and reaching for Louis’s shoulders with both hands, pulling him in for more kisses. 

“This is nice,” he whispers against Louis’s lips. 

Louis runs his tongue along Harry’s full bottom lip. “I’m not even inside you yet, babe.” 

Harry burst in giggles, and Louis can’t help but laugh too. He leans back a little so he can take hold of his cock and line it up at Harry’s entrance, then rejoins their mouths in a deep kiss as he starts to push in. 

Louis swallows down Harry’s little sounds of discomfort as he’s stretched around Louis’s girth, giving him time to adjust once he’s fully sheathed. He moves his tongue in and out of Harry’s slack mouth, and after a few minutes, Harry comes back to life and adds his own tongue to the mix. 

“M’good,” Harry murmurs, giving Louis’s lip a playful nip. 

Louis kisses him one more time before straightening up, and Harry locks his ankles around Louis’s waist and reaches for his hands. Louis tangles their fingers as he starts to fuck Harry with gentle rolls of his hips, staying deep and moving slow. Once he finds a rhythm, he bends over again so their torsos press together, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. 

“You feel so good,” he moans against his hot skin. 

Harry is letting out a soft noise with every one of Louis’s thrusts and squeezing his hands tightly at the overwhelming feeling. Most of the time, when he bottoms for Louis he has so much else to focus on—a cock ring holding his orgasm back or the sharp ache of nipple clamps or a ball gag stretching his jaws or the burn of a freshly spanked ass—but tonight it’s just the acute sensation of Louis deep inside him. He’s lightheaded with it, clinging to Louis’s hands to stay grounded. 

Louis starts mouthing at the sensitive spots on his neck, kissing and licking a warm, wet trail. “Touch yourself again,” he whispers, quickly adding, “If you want.” 

Harry gasps as Louis’s lips drag up the center of his throat, over his Adam’s apple. He shakes his head minutely. “Just want you,” he breathes. 

Louis suddenly pulls out, but before Harry can even comprehend the loss, Louis is flipping him onto his side and spooning up behind him. Harry parts his legs a little so Louis can slide back into his hole, groaning at the welcome intrusion, and Louis adds his own groans as Harry feels even tighter like this. 

It’s a little more work to thrust lying on his side, and Louis’s front sticks to Harry’s back with sweat. He has his bottom arm wrapped around Harry’s chest to hold him close, and Harry clings to it with both hands. His top arm slides down Harry’s torso to find his cock, throbbing and heavy against the sheets. 

“Yes, yes,” Harry whimpers when Louis wraps his fingers around his length. Louis finds a pattern, moving his hand down Harry’s shaft on every thrust in and then back up each time he pulls out. White spots sparkle in front of Harry’s eyes as Louis’s cock pounds his prostate in this position. 

Louis keeps going until he physically can’t anymore, his muscles cramping in the arm stroking Harry while the other arm goes numb underneath the boy’s weight. Harry is pliant when Louis moves him again, the older boy sitting up against the headboard and pulling Harry into his lap. He holds his cock steady in one hand and uses the other to guide Harry’s hips down until Louis’s enveloped in the tight heat. 

“Can you ride me?” he asks, no demanding tone to his voice, just a soft request. 

Harry nods dazedly, holding onto Louis’s shoulders for leverage as he lifts himself up and drops back down. It tears a cry from his throat; even though he’s controlling the pace now, Louis feels so big inside him, filling him, a constant pressure. He forces himself to keep moving, rolling his hips languidly, letting his head drop back in pleasure. 

Louis kisses Harry’s chest, the only part of him he can reach in their current position. Once Harry’s found a rhythm, Louis fists his cock again so Harry thrusts into it every time he moves up, Louis’s own pleasure forgotten as he watches his beautiful boy move. 

Harry’s thighs tremble both with exertion and with his building pleasure, his muscles burning as he moves up and down in Louis’s lap. After a while they give out completely, and he drops down with a soft cry, fully impaled. 

Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and tips him backward, so they return to their original position of missionary. He can’t hold off his orgasm anymore, so he starts snapping his hips quick, pounding in and out of Harry’s now willing hole. 

Harry’s eyes are clenched shut as Louis fucks him hard, and he snakes a hand between their bodies to find his own cock. He doesn’t need to stroke it much before he’s over the edge, Louis’s head slamming into his prostate as Harry coats both their stomachs with ropes of white. His channel spasms around Louis’s length, making Louis’s rhythm falter as his own pleasure peaks. Louis muffles his cry into Harry’s shoulder as he comes, filling Harry with seed and collapsing on top of him. 

They stay like that for a while, Harry’s arms wrapped around Louis’s back, holding the smaller boy tight to him as they come down from their highs. Eventually, Louis moves enough to pull his softening cock out, making Harry gasps as his sore hole closes around nothing. Louis kisses him softly, a light brush of their lips. 

“This _is_ nice,” he whispers with a smile. 

Harry returns the smile, humming his assent. 

Louis drops his head back on Harry’s chest, overwhelmed with a wave of exhaustion. Harry pets his head knowingly as Louis’s eyelids are suddenly too heavy to hold open. It takes his hazy brain a few minutes to remember that he took a Valium before they started fucking, and the effects are settling in in his post-orgasmic haze.

“Sleep, love,” Harry murmurs, easing Louis off of him and onto the mattress. “I’ll clean you up.” 

Louis tries to move, but his limbs feel like they’ve melted. He manages to give Harry a smile, though, as Harry slides out of bed to wet a cloth. By the time he returns with it, Louis is fast asleep. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

They wake up in the morning without an alarm, since they have most of the day to themselves, which is a nice change from the usual blare of a cell phone that starts most of their days. Harry feels well rested and well fucked, and he snuggles in closer to Louis as daylight fills their over-the-top luxurious French hotel room. 

Louis’s eyes flutter open, bright blue in the sunshine pouring through the window, and he wraps Harry up in his arms. “Morning,” he murmurs. 

“Good morning,” Harry says, his usually low voice even rougher. “Sleep alright?” 

Louis nods, kissing Harry’s curls. “Yes, mom,” he says, and Harry pinches his ribs. 

Keeping Harry tight to his side with one arm, Louis reaches for the bedside table with the other. His fingers close around his phone, and when he goes to check his messages, he realizes it’s turned off. Frowning, he holds down the power button, feeling Harry tense up a little beside him. 

When the phone turns back on, it immediately starts chiming with new texts. A few are from Liam, who had gone out last night and apparently gotten blasted if his typos are anything to go by, but there are four new ones from that same unknown number. 

_Again, a car will be at the hotel for you at one. Alberto knows, he’ll take you. You’ll go the airport and then to Aux P'tits Anges for lunch, there will be three girls there to take photos with the two of you_

_Paparazzi will be at the hotel when you return so the driver will drop you two off out front. You need to walk together this time, do NOT just leave her behind in the car_

_Louis are you getting these? She’s going with you to the award show too, it’s important that we make sure she’s seen with you all day_

_Louis please confirm_

Louis reads over the messages a few times, the ones from last night and these new ones, a sickening bubble growing in his stomach. Wordlessly, he passes the phone to Harry so he can read them too. 

Before Harry can say anything, the phone starts ringing in his hand. 

“They’re calling,” he says, glancing at Louis’s alarmingly pale face. “Do you…?” 

Louis nods stiffly, taking the phone back and hitting the answer button. “What?” he snarls into the phone. Harry rubs his hip soothingly, listening to the only side of the conversation he can hear. 

“Come off it, this is ridiculous. No one is going to buy this bull shit.” 

“Why do we have to be together all bloody day?” 

“I don’t want her at the awards, you know she shouldn’t be there. Sophia’s not going, Perrie’s not going, it’s going to look stupid.” 

Louis suddenly rips the blankets off and gets out of bed, and Harry scrambles to follow him. 

“I’m not a fucking idiot,” Louis spits, starting to pace the suite. 

“Send her over here and have someone spot her at a fucking Starbucks, I don’t care, but I’m not doing this.” 

“I’m not doing it!” 

“Do _not_ threaten me with my contract, I don’t even know who you fucking are, were you just promoted from intern last week?” 

Harry tries to wrap an arm around him, but Louis shakes him off and continues his pacing. Harry can hear the muffled sound of the person on the other end of the line shouting through the phone speaker, but Louis pulls the phone away and slams his thumb down on the end button. 

Louis looks up at Harry, finding his wide, green eyes. “They’re threatening not to let me go tonight,” his says, his voice is strangely high and tight. 

“What?” Harry reaches out again, and this time Louis lets Harry wrap his long arms around his small body. He buries his face in Harry’s bare chest, both of them still completely naked. 

“Baby, you’re shaking,” Harry whispers, tightening his hold. Louis is practically vibrating against him, struggling to draw a full breath. 

Harry’s own heart hammers in his chest as Louis struggles to keep himself together in his arms. He can feel Louis’s ribs expanding and contracting erratically, so he very gently takes the boy by the shoulders and moves him back a little so he can see his face. 

“Louis, breathe,” he says, trying to sound firm but hearing the pleading note in his voice. A few tears roll down Louis’s ghostly pale cheeks, and Harry thumbs them away. 

“I-I can’t,” Louis gasps, nails digging in to Harry’s sides where he grips him. 

Harry ignores the pain, wiping away new tears as they fall. “You’re okay, Lou, just breathe,” he repeats. 

“I can’t _do this_ ,” Louis sobs, dropping his head back onto Harry’s chest. “Please don’t make me, _please_.” 

Harry stomach tightens uncomfortably at that as he strokes Louis’s hair. He doesn’t know what to say, and he can feel Louis’s tears wetting his chest. “Love,” he murmurs, kissing the top of his head. 

“Please,” Louis begs, his voice muffled in Harry’s skin. “I can’t do it, I don’t want to.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry says quickly, rubbing his back. “I’ll—I’ll call them, or something, just please calm down. I’ll get you out of it.” 

The tears and sobs begin to subside, but he can feel Louis’s heart continue to beat out of control, and the boy can’t seem to get his breathing regulated. 

“Do you need to go in the shower?” he asks softly. 

Louis shakes his head, arms still locked around Harry’s middle with his cheek stuck to his sternum. “Can I have my medicine?” he whispers. 

Harry’s not sure why Louis is asking him for permission—he’s a grown man who can make his own decisions—but he nods anyways. If Louis needs the reassurance, he’ll give it to him. “If you let go of me, I’ll get it for you.” 

It takes a minute, but Louis finally drops his arms and pulls back. Harry leads him over to the couch and settles him down before finding the pills in his suitcase and bringing it to him along with a bottle of water. Louis’s shaking too hard to get the cap off either bottle, so Harry does it for him, steadying the water and helping him take a sip to swallow down the pill. 

“You’re okay,” Harry murmurs as Louis curls up on the couch and hugs a pillow to his chest. “You’re okay. Just give it some time to work, and you’ll feel better.” 

Louis nods miserably, a few fresh tears tumbling down his now blotchy cheeks and onto the pillow. His body is shuddering in waves as Harry sits down next to him, pulling his legs into his lap and stroking them. 

It takes about twenty minutes for the medicine to take effect, Louis’s shaking dying down, his breaths evening out, and his eyes falling closed. Harry stays with him the whole time, his mind racing as he tries to figure out what he can say to management to convince them not to make Louis spend the day with the Eleanor. He hates lying, and he knows they’ll see right through it anyway. Maybe he needs to enlist the help of one of the other boys. 

When he’s confident Louis’s asleep, he carefully slides out from underneath his legs and goes to find his own phone. Praying Liam isn’t too hung over, he closes himself in the bathroom and calls him. 

“’Lo?” Liam answers. 

“Hi, Liam,” Harry says, keeping his voice down. 

“What’s going on, Harry,” Liam asks conversationally, stifling a yawn. His ability to stay out all night and wake up the next day, drink a Red Bull, and carry on always amazes Harry. 

“Um, well.” Harry bites his lip, trying to figure out what exactly to say. “I need your help actually.” 

Liam’s tone changes immediately. “What’s the matter?” 

Harry sighs. “It’s Louis. They tried to set up this whole day for him with Eleanor, picking her up at the airport and going out to lunch. She’s even supposed to come to the awards tonight. And he… he freaked out. Begged me to get him out of it. I don’t know what to do.” 

“Alright, Harry, calm down,” Liam says, sounding much more awake and alert now. Harry already knows he made the right choice in calling him. “Where’s Louis now?” 

“He had to take a Valium to calm down, and it knocked him out,” he says, cracking open the bathroom door to check on Louis. He’s still asleep, clutching the pillow with a permanent frown knitting his brows. 

“Okay. So we just need to come up with a good excuse and call management,” Liam says. 

Harry bites his lip. “I’m a shit liar, Li. And they’re already threatening not let him go with us to the awards tonight.”

“Seriously?” Liam pauses, processing. “Well, tell them that they set him off so badly that he had to take medicine, and now he’s asleep. So he can’t spend the day with her, but he’ll be ready to go tonight.” 

That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But Harry’s still nervous. “Can you maybe,” he tries to ask, swallowing. “Can you help me? Talk to them?” 

“Of course, Harry,” Liam answers instantly. “Come over to my room so we don’t wake him up, okay?”

Harry had forgotten Liam was only a few rooms away, since they had chosen to spend the night in Louis’s room. “Okay, I’ll be there in a second.”

He hangs up and lets himself out of the bathroom, quickly pulling a pair of basketball shorts and a hoodie. He throws a blanket over Louis’s sleeping body and grabs both their phones before padding down the hall to Liam’s room. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

When Harry returns a half hour later, Louis lifts his head groggily at the sound of the door closing. Harry comes over and kneels beside him on the couch, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“Liam and I talked to them,” he murmurs, Louis’s blue eyes only half open. “She’s already on her way, but they’re sending her back once she lands.” He bites his lip, struggling to get out the rest.

Louis’s eyes fall closed for a few seconds. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

“But…” Harry swallows, tugging the blanket a little higher over Louis. “You can’t come tonight. They said fans already spotted her at the airport, and if she isn’t seen with you at all, they’ll get suspicious. So they’re gonna tell everyone you’re too sick.” He kisses Louis’s face again. “I’m really sorry, babe.”

Louis just looks at him as the words sink in and his brain slowly catches up. He lets out a massive sigh, holding the pillow a little tighter. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay, right?”

Harry nods, even though he can’t help but think of all the backlash Zayn suffered after missing their appearance on the Today Show in Florida.

“What time is it?” Louis asks as his eyes close again.

Harry glances at his phone. “A little after ten,” he says, running his fingers through Louis’s soft hair.

“M’so tired,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Shh, it’s fine,” Harry assures him. “You need anything?”

“Phone?” Louis asks, getting harder to understand as he turns his face into the pillow. 

Harry pauses, but then nods. He takes Louis’s phone and tucks it into the boy’s hand. He and Liam had told management explicitly not to bother Louis again for the rest of the day and to call them instead if they need anything, so hopefully they’ll listen and leave him be. He stands up, going over to find proper workout clothes in his suitcase and pull them on. The uncomfortable twisting sensation in his stomach won't seem to go away, so he hopes an hour in the gym might help. Louis’s dead asleep again by the time Harry slips out of the room.


	14. Midnight Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is actually, finally coming to an end. The next chapter will be the last chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who has stuck by me through writing this, it was really my first attempt at a long story with some plot.
> 
> I read somewhere that a lot of fan fiction authors never use Harry as the antagonist, always Louis, so I tried to flip that stereotype on its head.

****

**Sunday, December 14—London, England**

After the NRJ Music Awards fiasco, the five boys return to London to rehearse Sunday morning and then perform on the _X Factor_ that night with Ronnie Wood. The excitement of playing with such a music legend is enough to temporarily jolt Louis out of his misery, and he rides the high with everyone as they leave the stage.

“You're coming to the after party, right?” Harry asks him after they’ve all calmed down a bit back in the dressing rooms.

Louis considers, and then shakes his head. Now that some of the buzz from their performance is wearing off, his leftover feelings from Cannes are creeping back in, and he just wants a cigarette, tea, and Harry in the comfort of their own home.

“Please come,” Harry asks, pouting dramatically and tugging on the Adidas track jacket Louis’s just slipped on.

Louis catches Harry’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the black cross tattooed there. “Kind of just wanted to go home.”

Harry looks crestfallen, and Louis hates being the one to put that look on his face. “Please?” Harry says again. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Don’t just go home and be sad.”

Louis scuffs the toe of his sneaker on the ground a little, looking down at where their hands meet. “You know I don’t like when we go to parties and can’t be with each other,” he says.

“I know,” Harry sighs. “But Zayn, Liam, and Niall will be there too. Between the four of us, we won’t let you be alone. I promise. Please?”

Louis glances up. Harry sure is making a lot of promises. He takes a deep breath and finally nods his head. “Alright, I’ll come. But only for a little while.”

Harry’s face breaks into a smile, and Louis can’t help but smile back. Harry had been so good to him with everything that happened in Cannes; if it makes Harry happy for Louis to go to a stupid party, he’ll go to a stupid party.

Checking to make sure no one’s looking, Harry bends over and gives Louis a quick kiss. “Thank you for switching places with me on stage,” he murmurs. 

Louis blushes a little, but rolls his eyes to try and play it off. “Everyone deserves a chance to sing next to one of their idols,” he says flippantly, but the happy sparkle in Harry’s eyes has him smiling again.

\- - - - - - - - - - 

The after party is in a small club, full of music types, hanger-ons, _X Factor_ people, and of course, One Direction and company. Louis can feel the bass pounding in his bones as he stands near the bar and chews on the plastic straw sticking out of his Coke, Liam beside him.

“Quit doing that!” he snaps at Liam, yelling over the music. Every time he looks over, Liam’s dark eyes are trained on him, narrowed but soft, and it’s growing increasingly annoying.

“M’not doing anything!” Liam yells back, putting his hands in the air innocently.

“Well, quit looking at me then,” Louis grumbles, not sure Liam can even hear him. He can’t figure out if Liam’s look is pitying, calculating, or concerned, but he knows he hates it.

He turns around, motioning the bartender over. “Two shots of vodka,” he shouts, and the bartender nods, returning a second later with a pair of tiny glasses filled with clear liquid.

Louis picks them up and thrusts both at Liam. “Here. Drink up and shut up.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” Liam cries, but he downs one shot and then the other, chasing them with a swig of beer. Louis hopes if he can get Liam drunk, he’ll leave him alone.

Better yet, Louis orders a third shot, and when Liam is mid-gulp, he slips away into the crowd.

He finds Niall standing on the far side of the club, chatting animatedly about guitars with Dan and sloshing frothy beer down the side of his glass. Louis forces a smile and leans against the wall, close enough to look like he’s engaged with the two of them but not actually paying attention to a damn word they’re saying. The wall shakes behind him with the beat of the music. 

He hasn’t seen Harry since they arrived. Everyone always vies for Harry’s attention wherever they go, and Louis is mostly used to it by now—except for the fact that Harry had promised him he would make sure Louis wouldn’t be alone at this party, and so far, it’s just been Louis trying to insert himself into other people’s groups to look sociable.

This is why he hates these things.

He used to enjoy parties, he thinks to himself as he sucks an ice cube from his Coke and crunches it between his teeth. He used to be the life of them, too, acting like a complete idiot as long as he knew Harry was watching. Now, parties just feel like an extension of their prison—or more like an extension of their great performance, maintaining the straight boy façade in the middle of a room full of important people. It’s even harder to deal with now that he’s forced to choose soda over alcohol, he thinks bitterly, but Harry would be so disappointed in him if he got drunk. That’s enough to keep him ordering Cokes.

Louis’s ripped from his own thoughts by a sudden tap on his shoulder, and he turns around to find Zayn holding up a pack of cigarettes and motioning his head toward the back door. Nodding gratefully, he turns to tell Niall he’s leaving, but the blonde boy is still facing Dan, and Louis’s not sure he had ever noticed Louis was standing behind him.

He follows Zayn to the back, walking along the wall and keeping his head down so no one can try to make eye contact and engage. He keeps hoping to feel one of Harry’s large hands grab him and stop him, pull him in for a hug, but no one touches him as they snake through the crowd.

Pushing through the back door, they find themselves on a small patio enclosed by a high wooden fence. The handful of small metal tables and chairs is covered with a dusting of snow, and it feels even colder outside in comparison to the hot, thick air inside. Louis yanks his track jacket sleeve over his hand so his fingers don’t freeze to his soda glass.

They’re alone, no one else daring to brave the December cold even for a smoke, and Louis takes his first easy breath in an hour. Zayn extracts two cigarettes, handing one to Louis and putting the other between his lips. 

“You alright?” Zayn asks, holding up the lighter between them. They both duck their heads in and ignite the ends of their cigarettes in the small flame.

Louis takes a deep drag, letting his eyes fall closed as the smoke fills his lungs soothingly. Knowing Zayn’s waiting for an answer, he slowly shakes his head; there’s no use lying. Zayn wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes, and even though it’s not Harry, Louis’s glad for the comfort.

“I hate these parties,” Louis mutters, breathing out the smoke around the cigarette without pulling it away, so he doesn’t have to expose his hand to the cold.

Zayn nods knowingly, stealing the glass of Coke from Louis and taking a sip. He frowns a little at the taste, and Louis hastily grabs it back. He gulps down the rest of it, discarding the glass on one of the tables and hoping Zayn doesn’t realize there’s no alcohol in it. He really can’t handle explaining that right now.

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, standing awkwardly close to each other for warmth. When Louis’s down to the filter, he grinds it out with his sneaker and reaches into Zayn’s pocket for another one.

He’s just taking his first drag of the second cigarette when two bodies suddenly come tumbling loudly out the back door and onto the patio. Recognizing the ridiculous flamingo shirt, Louis’s eyes widen as he realizes the staggering mess in front of him is Harry, clinging desperately onto the arm of Nick Grimshaw.

“Louis! There you are!” Harry exclaims, his booted feet slipping on the snow-slick bricks. Nick grunts, fisting the back of Harry’s shirt to keep him upright.

Louis glances at Zayn, who is staring at Harry with a mixture of horror and amusement. Zayn’s eyes meet Louis’s briefly, and then he busies himself lighting up a second cigarette of his own. 

“Hi, Haz,” Louis says finally, staring at Harry’s arm where it’s now clinging to Nick’s waist.

“We’ve been looking all over for you!” Harry says, pushing his greasy, matted curls off his face. His voice is too loud, his usually slow speech even slower.

“Just been out here with Zayn,” Louis says, flicking away the ashes built up on the end of the cigarette held between his shaking fingers. The cold air is quickly making the skin on his hands raw and red. “Didn’t know where you went.” 

Harry’s face contorts into something close to a frown, his fingers digging into Nick’s side. Nick at least has the decency to look uncomfortable.

“Good to see you, Louis,” Nick interjects. When he tries to pry Harry’s fingers off, the boy sways dangerously the other way, so Nick is forced to grab onto him again.

“You too, Grimmy,” Louis says, but he’s not looking at Nick.

“You want a smoke?” Zayn pipes in, offering the pack to Nick and Harry to try and ease the tension.

“Louis, come inside,” Harry demands. When he tries to take a menacing step forward, Nick automatically reaches out to grab him by the upper arm. Harry tries to shake him off, but Nick holds fast. Louis actually feels grateful.

“Gonna finish my cig and probably head home,” Louis says, even though he’s hardly taken two drags and the cigarette is already almost gone.

Harry stomps his feet a little. “No. Come dance with me.”

Louis snorts, and he can sense Zayn moving closer to him. “You know we can’t do that, Harry.”

Harry looks over at Nick for reinforcement, but Nick just shakes his head. “Yes, we can,” Harry insists, reaching out for Louis with the arm Nick’s not holding.

Louis takes a reflexive step backward, and Harry’s eyes flash with anger. “How much did he fucking drink?” Louis snaps at Nick.

“I only just found him!” Nick says defensively. “He was stumbling around the bar, looking for you.”

“Well how nice of him, since he promised me he’d stay with me all night!” Louis snarls.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Zayn says, putting a steadying hand on Louis’s back. He can feel Louis shaking, and it’s definitely not just from the cold. 

They’re all quiet for a minute, the muffled thump of the music from inside the only sound in the little courtyard. Louis drops his unfinished cigarette onto the bricks and steps on it, trying to ignore how fast his heart is pounding. He just can’t believe that while he had been sucking down Cokes, following Liam and Niall around and forcing himself to stay sober to keep Harry happy, Harry had been off getting wasted and rubbing elbows with London’s elite. It makes him want to scream.

“Come dance with me,” Harry repeats, breaking the silence.

“Harry, stop it!” Louis shouts, his voice echoing in the small space. Zayn’s hand presses a little harder against his spine. “I can’t fucking dance with you in front of all these people, and you _know_ that!”

Harry’s glare deepens, and he tries to take another step toward Louis. Nick grabs him with both arms now. “Why are you acting like this?” Harry yells back.

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, staring at Harry’s wild hair and flushed face and dark eyes. Finally, he shakes his head. “I’m going home.”

“Why don’t you just have a drink and relax?” Harry spits.

Louis stiffens, a sickening jolt of adrenaline shooting through his body.

“How fucking dare you,” he hisses before spinning around and throwing open the door, disappearing back into the club. He can hear Harry yelling after him only for a second before the door closes and the pounding music fills his ears.

He shoves his way through the crowd, not caring who he knocks over as he struggles toward the front door. His brain is a jumbled mess of thoughts, but he’s dimly aware that he needs to text Alberto to get him a car and escort him out. Halfway through the club and prying his phone out of his jeans pocket, he slams straight into Liam. 

“Hey, whoa,” Liam exclaims, grabbing Louis by the shoulders to steady him as the impact nearly send his smaller body to the floor. “Where’s the fire?” 

“Just let me go,” Louis whines, trying to wriggle out of Liam’s hold. “Just want to go home.”

“What’s the matter?” Liam demands, ducking his head to look Louis in the eye. Louis can only hold his gaze for a few seconds before he turns away, blinking furiously.

“Harry’s a dickhead, that’s all,” he grumbles, barely loud to hear over the music. Using Liam as a human shield from all the dancing bodies, he unlocks his phone and types out a quick text to Alberto.

“What did you do now?” 

Louis’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and hurt. “I just said _Harry’s_ a dickhead, what the hell do you mean, what did _I_ do now?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m sorry,” Liam says quickly.

Louis thinks about how Harry had gone to Liam for help dealing with management for Louis in Cannes; what kind of picture had Harry painted of the situation to Liam? He can’t bear to be fighting with two of his band mates at once, though, even if one of them is his idiot boyfriend.

“You’re drunk,” Louis says flatly. “You should go find Harry, you’d be perfect company for each other. I’m leaving.”

Before Liam has a chance to say anything else, Louis breaks away, moving quickly for the front door. Alberto is already waiting for him there like the godsend he is, staying tight behind him and guiding him into a waiting SUV.

Once the door closes, the sudden silence inside the car is almost painful. Louis stretches out over the backseat as they wind their way through the city, throwing an arm over his face and chewing on his shirtsleeve. He feels like crying, but a quick mental tally of how many times over the past month he’s cried has him too exhausted to even make tears.

He’s so mad at Harry, but at the same time, he can’t blame him. Harry likes to go out and be social, and Harry likes to drink. Alcohol usually just turns Harry into a sillier, clumsier version of his usually silly and clumsy self—it doesn’t turn him into an aggressive idiot like it does Louis. But after all of Harry’s efforts to get Louis to stop self-medicating with alcohol and deal with anxiety the right way, to then tell him to relax and have a drink? 

If Nick and Zayn hadn’t been there, what would’ve happened?

Louis doesn’t realize they’ve pulled up to his and Harry’s place until the driver comes around and opens the door beneath his head, causing him to nearly tumble out backwards. Grumbling his thanks, he lets himself inside, locking the door behind him and hoping Harry had forgotten to take his key. 

The house is even quieter than the car, and Louis’s flips on the television to drown out the ringing in his ears. It’s almost midnight, and even though his brain feels emotionally drained, his body is still buzzing with misplaced adrenaline. He busies himself making tea in the kitchen, the volume on the TV loud enough to follow him in there.

His phone chimes with a new text as he’s pulling a mug out of the cabinet. Thinking it might be Harry, he considers ignoring it, but curiosity gets the best of him and he pulls it out of his pocket.

_You ok?_

It’s from Zayn, not Harry. Louis sighs, dropping down into a kitchen chair to type in a reply.

_Not really. Is he still with you?_

He listens to the sounds of the television for a few minutes, some news segment on immigration, waiting for Zayn’s reply.

_Grimmy took him home_

A funny sensation stirs up in Louis’s stomach that feels an awful lot like jealousy, and his thumbs hover over the keyboard for a few minutes.

_His home or our home?_

Zayn quickly texts back that he’s not sure, and Louis sighs and drops the phone onto the table. He hates the idea of Nick taking drunken Harry back to his place so much, and he can’t even really articulate why. Nick’s not really a bad person, despite their Twitter spats and the way the media likes to portray him as romantically involved with Harry. Maybe Louis just wishes he could be the one taking care of Harry tonight, even though he still really wants to kick the boy in the balls for what he said. But Harry’s probably vomiting all over Nick’s bathroom, and why would Louis ever want to deal with that?

The kettle whistles, and Louis pours the hot water over a bag of Yorkshire. His heart is still beating too fast, and even though drinking a cup of caffeinated black tea at midnight probably isn’t the best idea, he sips at it anyway. His phone chimes again, and he glances down at the screen sitting on the table.

_Can he come back to yours?_

It takes Louis a second to realize that it’s not from Zayn—it’s from Nick. The urge to type in ‘no’ is strong, but he can tell that by the way Nick is asking for permission that Nick is fully aware Harry fucked up. He just hopes Nick has passed that information along to Harry. 

_Yes, it’s his place too_

He forces himself to drink the rest of the tea even though it’s too hot and leaves the empty mug in the sink. He stares at his message with Nick for a few minutes, waiting to see if Nick says anything else. When no more texts come through, he starts feeling increasingly anxious. How long had it taken him to get home from the party? Is Nick driving Harry? They could be here any second.

The tea churns unpleasantly in his stomach as he paces the kitchen. In a sudden panic, he throws his coat back on, jamming his phone and wallet in his pocket and grabbing his keys. He runs out of the house without turning off the television or even locking the front door, jumping into his little black Porsche and driving off into the night.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Harry rolls over with a moan. His entire body feels sore, his mouth tastes horrible, and he’s sticking to the sheets with sweat. It takes him a few minutes to peel open his eyes, squinting in the gray morning light. Realizing he’s in his own bed, he reaches around for Louis, confused when he doesn’t find a small, warm body curled up next to him.

He does, however, find a note scribbled on a page ripped out of magazine. Harry frowns, slowly reading the words written in black marker over a Ralph Lauren perfume ad.

_Harry,_

_Had to go do the breakfast show._

_You stopped puking around 3, figured you’d be okay._

_Text me when you wake up and CALL ZAYN ASAP._

_-Grimmy_

He drops back down onto the pillows with a groan. Puking until three? Well that explains the headache threatening to crack open his skull. He spots a water bottle on the bedside table and gratefully chugs down most of it.

He fishes his phone out of the duvet and scrolls through the new messages, wondering where the hell Louis is and why there’s no text from him. Most of the texts are from numbers he doesn’t know, saying it was nice getting to know him last night and trying to set up meetings. Ignoring those, he sends Nick a quick message.

_I’m alive. Thanks for taking care of me xx_

Remembering what Nick’s note had said, Harry then brings up Zayn’s number. He hesitates—it’s only a little after nine, there’s a very slim chance that Zayn will answer—but Nick made it seem urgent, so Harry calls him anyway. 

Zayn answers with a grunt.

“Oh, you’re up,” Harry says, his voice hardly more than a rasp. 

“Barely,” Zayn mutters. “But I see you are.”

“Just woke up,” Harry says. “Grimmy left me a note, said I should call you?”

Zayn snorts, and Harry can hear him moving around in the sheets. “Did he?”

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly, picking up on Zayn’s strange tone. “What’s going on? Do you know where Louis is?”

“He’s at his mum’s,” Zayns replies a little sharply.

Harry sits up, clearing his throat. “Why the hell?”

“Do you remember anything about last night?” 

Harry’s not pleased with the attitude Zayn’s giving him, but he’s his only source of information right now, so he has to play along. “No,” he admits. “I don’t even remember how I got home.”

“Of course not,” Zayn grumbles, his voice muffled like he’s talking into a pillow. 

“Zayn,” Harry snaps. “Why is Louis at Jay’s?”

“Because you really set him off!” Zayn finally exclaims. “You were telling him to go inside and dance with you, even though I know you know that’s not okay, and then you yelled at him to have a drink and chill out or something, and he fucking lost it, alright?”

Harry has to grab onto the headboard to steady himself as all the blood seems to rush out of his brain. “I…I said that?”

“What part?”

“T-to chill out and have a drink?”

Zayn grunts his affirmation. “Something like that. I dunno what was so bad about it, but by the look on his face, you might as well have slapped his sister or something.”

Harry doesn’t realize he’s moved until his knees hit the tile floor of the bathroom and he’s retching into the toilet. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

Louis wakes up to the pleasant sound of one of his little sisters shrieking their head off downstairs. He jams a pillow over his face, trying to block out the noise and the sunlight filling the room, but it’s no use. He’s awake now.

The whole Tomlinson-Deakin clan is flying out to New York today, to spend some time in the city before Christmas and before One Direction’s appearance on Saturday Night Live. It had taken Louis over three hours to drive from London to Doncaster last night, and then he had slept poorly on the tiny bed in their guest bedroom, and now he’s supposed to sit on a plane for half a day across the Atlantic Ocean.

This is not how he'd expected to feel the morning after a performance with Ronnie Wood.

He misses Harry.

Pulling himself out bed with a groan, he tugs back on the clothes he’d driven in last night. In his haste to leave, he had completely neglected to pack anything, and now he has nothing to bring to New York. He can’t bring himself to really care, though. Someone can figure it out for him, or he can just shut himself up in his hotel room there and never come out. Either option sounds fine.

The scene downstairs is pure chaos, with suitcases and girls everywhere. His mother stands in the kitchen, trying to feed everyone in the midst of everything, but she catches Louis’s eye and breaks into a grin. 

“I love seeing you walk down those stairs!” she exclaims, making Louis blush. “Miss having you here so much.”

“I know,” he grumbles even though he loves the attention, letting her wrap him up in a hug he desperately needs. “Miss you too.” 

She holds him at arm’s length, trying to read his face. “Did you two have a fight? It was after three when you got here.”

Louis groans, shaking his head. “Don’t want to talk about it.” 

One of the babies takes that perfect opportunity to start crying, and Louis happily lets Jay go tend to it while he takes over the eggs and toast situation. He spends the rest of the morning helping with the household pandemonium, getting everyone packed and loaded into cars, too busy to really think about Harry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, the next chapter will be the last one. I have it planned out pretty well in my head, so hopefully it won't take too long to write. Thanks again!


	15. Midnight Giving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! All of your comments meant so much to me, especially those of you who literally commented every time I posted a chapter, that was so amazing. I really hope this ending has the right amount of fluff and smut for you.
> 
> I'm thinking I'll continue this story in a sequel once tour starts again in a few weeks, and it'll follow Harry and Louis through at least the first leg of it. We'll be getting lots more pictures and updates then, which should help with inspiration. Although someone might have to teach me a bit about Australia...
> 
> Again, thank you for your faithful readership. Would be lovely if you'd subscribe to my user, too!

****

**Tuesday, December 16—New York City, New York, USA**

Harry sinks down onto the edge of his hotel bed with a sigh and looks around the suite, taking in everything he’d worked on all day. 

In one corner near the television and couch, there’s a real Christmas tree. It’s the biggest one he could fit in the room, decorated with colored lights, red and gold ornaments, and copious amounts of tinsel. His fingers still feel sticky with sap, but the whole room smells like fresh pine now. There are a handful of gifts piled underneath the tree, wrapped neatly in red and gold paper with matching ribbon and bows. Jeff and Glenne had picked everything up for him, to avoid the rumors people would’ve come up with if Harry had been seen buying a Christmas tree in Manhattan, but he’d set it all up by himself. And he thinks it looks damn good, all things considered. 

The kitchen is decorated too, but not for Christmas. There are blue and silver balloons with long, curly strings floating up at the ceiling, and matching blue streamers taped in big swoops along the cabinets. A giant chocolate sheet cake that had taken him most of the afternoon to bake is sitting on the counter, _Happy 23 rd Birthday Louis_ handwritten in blue icing in the middle. There’s another selection of presents next to the cake, wrapped in silver and blue polka dotted paper with big blue bows. 

Now he just needs Alberto to pull through and get Louis over here. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Louis makes his unhappiness abundantly clear when Alberto drags him out of his hotel room and into a cab. He doesn’t really care how much his family wants to have dinner with him, or the fact that he’s spent the first twenty-four hours in New York face down on his mattress. Harry hasn’t tried to make contact with him in any way since their disastrous encounter Sunday night—not a hello, not a how are you, and definitely not an apology—and Louis just wants to wallow in his misery alone. 

Except he also really just wants Harry next to him, because he hates being alone. 

He had opted not to stay in the same hotel as his family for safety reasons, so he rides with Alberto to the Waldorf Astoria. Even though it’s dark out and the traffic isn’t too bad, Louis jams a pair of sunglasses on his face and leans away from the window. The last thing he needs is a photograph of his gaunt, tearstained face circulating online. 

Louis completely fails to notice that they’re driving way too far downtown. 

The cab pulls up in front of an overly chic, small hotel in the meatpacking district. Louis lowers his sunglasses a bit so he can take in all the modern glass and metal and what is definitely not the classic Park Avenue exterior of the Waldorf where his family is staying. 

He opens his mouth to demand an explanation, but Alberto just yanks him out of the car and guides him inside. Louis keeps his head low, but no one seems to know or care that they’re here. They pass right by the small restaurant downstairs and get in an elevator. 

“What the hell is going on?” Louis finally demands when the metal doors slide shut, ripping off his sunglasses now. The inside of the elevator is all mirrors with a stupid chandelier in the middle, and Louis thinks he would very much like to take a hammer to it all. 

Alberto sighs and gives him a calculating look. “Just trust me.” 

Louis shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor so he can’t catch a glimpse of his own horrific reflection. Alberto has kept him safe for a long time now and never given Louis a reason not to trust him. Maybe some crazy fans have the Waldorf on lockdown and this is the only way to safely meet up with his family. 

When they get to the top floor, Alberto pulls out a keycard with the number “6100” scrawled on it in permanent marker. He points down the hall to a door with that number hammered onto a metal plate mounted beside it. Louis really can’t stand these pretentious boutique hotels. 

Louis gives him a blank look, so Alberto takes him by the shoulder and marches him to the door. “Trust me,” he repeats, slapping the card into Louis’s palm and then walking back to the elevator. 

Louis stares at the keycard, and when he glances back, Alberto’s already gone. Figuring he can trust his bodyguard not to send him into the hotel suite of a notorious boy band murderer or something, Louis sticks the card in the slot and turns the knob. 

“Mum?” he calls out as he pushes open the door. “Lottie?” 

The words die in his throat as his brain struggles to process what he’s seeing. The lamps in the suite are all dimmed low, and there’s a big, decorated Christmas tree twinkling with rainbow lights in the corner. The colors reflect off a few dozen shiny balloons floating around the kitchen ceiling, it smells like warm chocolate and pine needles, and Harry is standing in the middle of it all. 

“Harry,” he breathes, the sunglasses and keycard in his hand clattering to the floor. 

Harry crosses the suite in a few long strides as soon as the door thuds shut. He reaches out to touch Louis before second-guessing himself and letting his arms drop to his side. Louis just shakes his head, closing the distance between them and pressing himself against Harry. 

“Did you do all this?” he whispers. 

Harry nods before settling his chin on top of Louis’s head and wrapping him up in his arms. It’s only been a few days since they’ve seen each other, but it feels like a lifetime. He never wants to let go. 

“I felt so bad about what happened at the party,” Harry says, cupping Louis’s head so he can hold it even tighter against his chest. “I didn’t want to just apologize over the phone.” 

“It’s okay,” Louis says, his voice muffled against Harry’s Packers hoodie. 

Harry shakes his head, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “It’s not okay. You’ve been trying so hard for me, for us, and I just… I was so stupid.” 

“No, you weren’t stupid,” Louis insists, straightening up a bit. 

“I was, I’m so sorry,” Harry repeats. 

“No. Harry, I’m not mad. You’ve helped me so much. You helped me reach that headspace I needed, and you helped me stop drinking and smoking and get real medicine, and you helped me deal with management, and I love you _so_ much Hazza, but…” Louis sighs as all the things he’d gone over in his head the last two days just keep pouring out. “I can’t keep taking all my shit out on you, and I can’t keep asking you to put my needs in front of yours. It’s obvious by the way you got at that after party that the stress of it’s been too much.” 

Harry laughs and sniffles. “Might have had a little too much to drink, true.” 

“I have the medicine now to help with the anxiety and the insomnia. And I have you,” Louis continues. “We don’t have much more of this contract left, love. I’ve dealt with it this long; I can deal with it a little longer. I don’t know why I let it start affecting me so much, but I can handle it. I have you.” 

Harry nods, sending a few new tears tumbling. “You do. You always will.” 

Louis stands on his tiptoes and gives Harry a very gentle, close-mouthed kiss before dropping his head against the boy’s chest again. 

“You have to stop looking at management as the enemy, Lou,” Harry murmurs into Louis’s hair. “Even if it feels like they’re just torturing us for fun sometimes. I mean, obviously I don’t agree that us coming out would ruin the band, but…” 

“But there’s no way of knowing what could happen,” Louis finishes for him solemnly. 

“Yeah. But we have each other.” 

Louis sighs. “I know they’re not the enemy. And you’re not the enemy. I just get so _angry_ ,” he says. “It’s so hard to play along sometimes. I just want to, you know… Walk down the street and hold your hand.” 

Harry’s breath catches at that, and he lets go of Louis’s back so he can intertwine their fingers, squeezing gently. “Me too,” he whispers, voice thick from holding back more tears. “Please don’t ever think I don’t feel the same way. I wish more than anything that I could take you to that big tree in Rockefeller Center and kiss you in front of everyone right now.” 

They just stand there for a few minutes, holding each other. That’s when Louis realizes there’s Christmas music playing softly on the other side of the room. 

“So, what _is_ all this?” he finally asks, pulling back without letting go of Harry’s hands, peering around him with a growing smile.

Harry smiles back sheepishly, squeezing Louis’s fingers once more before letting to go wipe at his face with his sweatshirt sleeve. “Well, since I can’t take you to that big tree, I wanted to do something special for you,” he says. “So we can have our own little Christmas alone together. And celebrate your birthday, of course.” 

Louis grins, immediately gunning for the pile of presents underneath the tree and pulling Harry along behind him. Now he can recognize Michael Bublé’s Christmas album playing from Harry’s laptop, and he hums along as he drops down cross-legged in front of the tree. 

“I don’t have your gifts with me though!” Louis argues, even as he lifts one of the presents up to inspect it. 

Harry comes over and sits down in front of him, unable to keep the smile off his face at Louis’s excitement. “I don’t care, just open them.” 

Louis holds the present up to his ear and shakes it. “But I feel bad,” he whines even as he slides a finger under the perfectly wrapped paper and tears it open. 

Harry just keeps smiling as Louis rips off the wrapping paper he so painstakingly folded and taped. Inside is a cardboard box which Louis promptly pries open, pulling out a pair of black Adidas joggers from a nest of tissue paper. 

“Aw, Haz!” Louis exclaims, holding them up. “How did you know I like Adidas?” 

“Just a guess,” Harry says, nudging another present toward Louis. 

Louis folds the joggers into a nice ball and puts them aside to pick up the second gift. It’s a smaller cardboard box this time, and when he opens it, he finds a worn-looking knit beanie inside. He looks up at Harry quizzically. 

Harry’s cheeks are flushed. “It’s the one I wore to my _X Factor_ audition,” he mumbles. “You nick it all the time, so… I wanted to officially give it to you.” 

Louis pulls it out of the tissue paper, holding it in his hand and pressing it against his face, breathing in the smell of Harry’s shampoo. Then he throws himself at Harry, knocking the younger boy backwards and kissing him deeply. 

“You are the biggest sap, Harry Styles,” he says, keeping him pinned to the ground to kiss him some more. “And I love you so much.” 

Harry’s still bright red, giggling against Louis’s mouth and immensely happy with his own romancing abilities. He nips at Louis’s lower lip until he pulls back. “Lots of time for kissing later, open the rest!” 

Louis settles into Harry’s lap and makes quick work of tearing through the rest of the gifts, which includes a gold Cartier watch, a vintage lighter with an English ship engraving, a shatterproof iPhone 6 case, and a pair of black and white skate-style Saint Laurent sneakers. Harry kisses the back of his neck when he’s finished, knocking some crumpled wrapping and tissue paper aside. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, hooking his chin on Louis’s shoulder and holding him tight around the waist. “I love you.” 

Louis leans back against him and closes his eyes, his chest feeling tight and his skin warm. He takes a deep, shuddery breath, breathing in the smell of the Christmas tree Harry had somehow smuggled into a hotel suite for him, and he’s suddenly and completely overwhelmed by his love for the curly haired boy he met in the bathroom when he was eighteen. “I love you, too,” he manages to whisper, eyes prickling with tears. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, just holding each other close and listening to Michael Bublé sing _All I Want For Christmas is You_. It dawns on Louis that he’s in the middle of one of the greatest cities there is, in the arms of the person he loves the most, and he thinks he just might be the luckiest person in this world. The horrors of their contracts seem very far away. 

“More presents in the kitchen,” Harry teases, breaking Louis from his thoughts and tickling his sides. “And cake.” 

Presents, tickles, and cake are enough to get Louis to his feet, and Harry stands up too and leads him over to the kitchen. Distracted by the Christmas tree, Louis hadn’t noticed anything beside the balloons when he had first entered the suite. Now he sees the streamers, the presents, and of course, the giant cake. Only Harry would understand how much it means to him to have his birthday separate from Christmas. 

Louis promptly swipes his finger in the cake frosting and sucks it off, knowing Harry’s watching. “Mmm, did you make this yourself?” 

Harry nods, coming over and grabbing Louis’s wrist. “I used to be a baker,” he reminds him, lifting Louis’s hand to his mouth. Louis lets out a tiny groan as he watches his finger disappear between Harry’s dark lips. 

“Don’t distract me,” he says, shivering as he feels Harry’s tongue lick him clean. “Still more presents.” 

Harry smirks around Louis’s finger, giving it one last good suck before pulling away. Louis looks a little scandalized and a lot turned on, adjusting himself in his pants a bit before hopping up on the counter and making grabby hands towards the gifts. 

Harry picks up one of the presents and gives it to Louis, leaning against the counter next to him to watch him open it. Louis shreds apart the wrapping paper and finds a new pair of handcuffs, made of a lovely black-finished steel. He lifts them up to inspect them closer, the problem in his pants growing. 

His eyes flick over toward Harry, a flash of blue. “These are going to look so good on you, love,” he says. 

Harry smiles, his dimple showing, letting Louis play with the cuffs for a few more moments before replacing them with a new present. Louis wastes no time ripping the paper off it, pulling out a bright white jockstrap. He laughs, smacking Harry with it. 

“Is this for my ass or yours?” he teases. 

Harry takes it from him, playing with straps. “Oh, absolutely yours,” he says. “And you can wear your knee socks with it and fuck me in the Rovers’ locker room.” 

Louis leans over and kisses him hard on the mouth. “I can definitely make that happen,” he promises. 

Harry slides his hand between Louis’s legs where he’s seated on the counter and gives him a squeeze, feeling how he’s half hard already. “Two more gifts,” he says in a singsong voice as Louis chokes back a groan. 

Keeping with the theme, the third birthday gift is a wooden paddle. It’s made of dark cherry wood, nice and heavy in Louis’s hand, and when he flips it over, he sees that his initials are branded into the wood. “Matches the monogram on the vibrator you bought me for my house in L.A.,” Harry explains, running his fingers over the letters. 

“God, Haz,” Louis murmurs, pressing down on his own crotch now to try and alleviate some of the pressure. “Thank you.” 

“One last present,” Harry says, smirking at Louis’s obvious predicament.

Louis looks around, but he doesn’t see any more unopened packages. “What is it?” he asks.

Harry moves over to stand in between Louis’s legs. “Me,” he declares, biting Louis’s earlobe sharply. “Any way you want.”

Louis shivers hard from Harry’s teeth, wrapping his legs around the boy’s waist and pulling him in close. When Harry releases his ear, Louis catches his mouth in a kiss, eagerly working his tongue inside. 

“This is amazing,” he pants between kisses. “All of it. You. You’re incredible. Thank you.” 

Harry just smiles, and Louis practically kisses his teeth. “You want cake or sex first?” he asks. 

“Cake, of course,” Louis replies without hesitation. He has all night to fuck Harry; he needs some sustenance. 

“Got to fatten you back up,” Harry muses as he moves away to find utensils. “I miss your teenage tummy.” 

Louis laughs, running a hand over his flat stomach. He knows he’d lost a fair amount of weight over the past year or so, mostly due to stress. “I’ve still got my ass though,” he adds. 

Harry slides the entire cake closer, and then scoops up a little with a fork and holds it up to Louis’s mouth. Louis’s jaw clenches, his eyes rolling dramatically, but then he opens up and allows Harry to feed him. 

“Good boy,” Harry teases, his dimple showing again, and Louis toes him in the knee.

“Shut up or I’m kicking you out of the band and turning you into my personal baker,” Louis warns. “Gimme more.” 

Harry shakes his head but happily feeds him another forkful, licking off the bit of frosting that catches on the corner of Louis’s mouth. “You’re a brat,” he murmurs, giggling when Louis tries to bite him. 

Remembering how good it had felt before and also to shut him up, Louis scoops up some of the frosting with two fingers and shoves them between Harry’s lips. He groans softly when Harry’s tongue starts working, cheeks hollowing as he sucks off the chocolate. Louis pushes his fingers in deeper, watching Harry struggle not to gag. 

Harry doesn’t stop sucking until Louis retracts his fingers, shining with spit but completely clean of frosting. A little dazed, Harry forgets to start feeding him again until Louis indicates the cake with a dramatic nod of his head. He scoops up a third forkful and nearly stabs Louis in the face with his shaking hands. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Louis says after he swallows, fearing a fork in the eye if he lets Harry feed him another bite. “Thank you very much, love.” 

Sheepish and flushed, Harry puts the fork down and helps Louis slide off the counter. “Oh no,” he suddenly whines, picking up a small box. “I forgot to light the candles!” 

Louis smirks, struck with an idea. “I think I know a way we can use those,” he says, raising his eyebrows and plucking the box of white birthday candles out of Harry’s hand. He picks up the new black handcuffs, too. “You ready to play?”

Harry swallows visibly, eying the candles and then nodding his head. His last gift to Louis might have not been entirely selfless. “Yes, yes I’m ready.”

“Go get on the bed,” Louis instructs. 

When Harry turns to obey, Louis looks around the room, spotting their black leather bag by Harry’s suitcase. It gives him a little thrill to think that Harry had carried that on the plane from London to New York, even though they had been fighting; he must have been hoping they’d make up and use it. Louis brings the entire thing over to the bed, not sure what items he’ll want as they go. 

Harry’s sitting on the bed, leaning back on his elbows with his legs spread, looking appropriately wanton and entirely overdressed. Kicking off his shoes, Louis crawls on top of him, knocking him flat on his back with a fierce kiss. Harry’s hands fly up to tangle in Louis’s hair, one of his legs hooking around Louis’s thigh, keeping him as close as possible. 

Louis breaks away only to pull Harry’s green hoodie over his head and toss it on the floor, quickly rejoining their mouths. Harry tastes like chocolate frosting and everything Louis’s been missing for the past two days, but as much as he wants to keep kissing him for the rest of his life, he drags his mouth down and latches onto Harry’s neck. 

Harry whines when Louis starts sucking a bruise, but he doesn’t protest. They don’t have to film anything until the end of the week, which should hopefully be enough time for whatever marks Louis leaves to fade. Not to mention it feels good, and the show of possessiveness always gets him hot. 

“Fuck, Lou,” he groans when Louis runs his nails down Harry’s bare torso, catching over his nipples. Louis’s mouth follows his fingers down, trailing kisses from Harry’s neck and over his collarbones, darkening one of the swallow tattoos with a love bite. Harry squirms under his him, gasping. 

Louis rubs his thumbs over Harry’s two extra nipples while mouthing at a main one, not complaining when Harry’s hands grab at his hair again. Harry’s erection is straining against the front of his skin-tight jeans, and Louis knowingly grinds his own against it. 

“You want these off?” Louis teases, ghosting his fingers down Harry’s sides until his skin breaks out in goose bumps, playing with the button his jeans. 

Harry lets out another little whine, nodding his head and watching as Louis slowly pops the button out and tugs the zipper down. He dances his fingers over Harry’s laurel tattoos, playing with the waistband. 

“Please,” Harry chokes out, grabbing fistfuls of the duvet. He’s quite certain if his cock doesn’t get proper blood flow soon, he may never recover. 

Louis just hums happily, slowly peeling the jeans down off of Harry’s longs legs and tossing them in the direction of his hoodie. He leans in and presses his lips to Harry’s navy blue briefs, kissing his hip through the fabric. He can feel the heat of Harry’s erection against his cheek. 

Unable to wait anymore, he grabs onto the briefs and practically rips them off. Harry sucks in a breath as he’s finally freed, and he stares down his body at Louis as Louis stares down hungrily at his cock. 

“Missed you,” Louis blurts out, breaking a bit of his dominant display. 

Harry laughs shakily and relaxes a little against the pillows. “Missed you, too. Missed having you like this.” 

“Like what?” Louis asks playfully, ducking down to lick along Harry’s shaft. 

Harry’s brain momentarily shorts out. “Like… Like this,” he repeats dumbly. “In control.” 

Louis grins, since there’s no one alive in this world who makes him feel _less_ in control than Harry Styles, but he gives the boy’s cock a good suck as a reward for answering. Harry’s back arches in pleasure, and Louis takes more of him into his mouth. 

He only blows Harry long enough to really get him going, and then he straightens up. Harry is sprawled on top of the duvet, his cheeks pink, panting softly with his legs spread to accommodate for Louis kneeling between them. Louis gives the boy’s spit-slick cock a few tugs before motioning for him to roll over. 

Harry flips on his stomach, and Louis lets him calm down for a few minutes while he strips off all of his own clothes. Once he’s naked too, he rubs a soothing hand up and down Harry’s spine before taking his arms and pinning them to his lower back. 

“Love this present,” he notes as he secures the new pair of black handcuffs to Harry’s wrists, putting the keys safely on the bedside table. (You only lose those in the blankets once before never forgetting to put them in a secure place again.) The dark color of the steel matches Harry’s tattoos and contrasts beautifully with his skin. 

Harry turns back over with Louis guiding his hips, lying uncomfortably on his cuffed arms. Louis gets off the bed to quickly grab a bottle of lotion from the bathroom and to shut off all the lamps, leaving the suite lit only by the colored lights on the Christmas tree. He also snags the vintage lighter Harry had given him and thoughtfully pre-filled with fluid, excited to try it out. 

Louis comes back to stand at the side of the bed. “What’s your color?” he demands, staring Harry right in the eye. 

“Green,” Harry says quickly, his cock twitching.

“And what’s your safe word?” 

“Red.” 

“And what do you say if you need a break?” 

“Y-yellow.” 

Louis climbs back onto the bed, petting Harry’s stomach gently as he settles on top of the boy’s thighs. There’s a good chance Harry is going to buck him off, but Louis prefers that to getting kicked. His own cock is hard now, too, excited for the first time in a long time at the prospect of dominating again. It feels right—the way it had used to feel. 

Harry’s breathing picks up, his eyes wide and dark as he fidgets a little. His hands are already starting to go numb, but he knows that will be the least of his problems in a minute. He watches Louis pick up the bottle of lotion, the small complimentary one from the hotel, and squeeze a generous amount on his hands.

Louis warms it up between his palms a bit before rubbing it over Harry’s stomach. Harry jerks, his abs tensing, but Louis just patiently spreads it across his skin. He adds more as he goes, working the lotion from Harry’s neck down to his hips and over the tops of his thighs until he’s slick with it. 

“Relax for me,” Louis murmurs, swapping out the lotion for a bottle of lube. Harry bites down hard on his lower lip and nods, trying to will his muscles to loosen up, as Louis lifts off his thighs and nudges them apart. 

Louis hadn’t originally been planning on this, but he thinks it might up the experience for Harry to be clenching around something during the wax play. Not to mention a little pleasure will help him take the pain longer. He teases Harry’s hole with a wet finger, waiting for him to him to relax a bit before sliding it in. 

Harry sucks in a breath but otherwise stays quiet, keeping still while Louis works his finger in and out. He feels tighter than ever, Louis thinks, and it’s a few minutes until he manages to squeeze his middle finger in beside the first. 

“Relax, Harry,” he repeats, firmer this time. 

“Nervous,” Harry whispers. 

Louis glances up and sees that Harry’s eyes are squeezed shut. “Love, you’re fine,” he says, using his other hand to rub Harry’s thigh, slippery with lotion. “You know your safe words. You trust me.” 

Harry nods his head but doesn’t open his eyes. Louis sighs, continuing to fuck him gently with two fingers and worrying that maybe Harry isn’t actually ready to submit again. Maybe they’re jumping back into this too fast after a tumultuous couple of weeks. 

He wedges his ring finger in alongside the other two. “Color?” 

“Green,” Harry gasps, digging his heels into the mattress. 

Louis spreads his fingers apart, stretching Harry as wide as he can as watching his face carefully. Harry’s lower lip is dark from biting it, but his eyes slowly flutter open, searching for Louis’s and catching them. 

“Good boy,” Louis croons, moving his three fingers in and out. Eventually Harry loosens up around him, his entire body finally relaxing, and only then does Louis replace his fingers with a good size remote controlled vibrating plug. 

Harry wriggles a little in the duvet as the toy stretches him wider than Louis’s fingers, and then he clenches around the smaller part with just the base staying out. Once it’s securely in place, Louis settles back on top of Harry’s thighs and wraps his hand around the boy’s flagging erection, stroking it back to hardness. 

“Gonna start now, babe,” he says quietly. He opens the little box of white birthday candles and empties them onto the duvet. They’re going to destroy the hotel bedding, but Louis couldn’t care less. He flips open the lighter smoothly, admiring his new gift for a second before igniting it with a flick of his thumb. 

Louis picks up one of the candles and carefully lights the wick. 

It burns quickly, beads of wax rolling down the sides. One of them hits Louis's finger and he's startled by how much it hurts. He glances down at Harry. The flame casts a soft red glow over the boy's body, which is shining with lotion and tensed up again in anticipation.

"Lou?" Harry asks softly. "You alright?"

Lou pauses, then shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "I'm good. You good?"

Harry nods, and Louis gives Harry’s thigh a reassuring pat before moving the candle over his stomach. He holds it high so the wax won’t be too hot when it hits Harry’s skin, and the second he tips it sideways, clear drops start to fall. 

Harry jumps, more in surprise than pain, as the first of the wax drips near his bellybutton. The heat stings sharply only for a second before it’s gone. They both watch, mesmerized, as the drops harden and turn white again. 

Now that he’s experienced the sting, Harry already feels better. It reminds him of getting tattooed—you always feel nervous before it starts because you forget how the needle feels, but then once the artist starts, you remember that the pain is uncomfortable but manageable. It’s the same with the wax; now that he knows what it feels like again, he can calm down and deal with it.

“Doing good,” Louis says as he tips the candle again and draws a steady line of wax along Harry’s hipbone. Harry hisses and squirms, jostling Louis where he’s perched on his thighs. 

The candle is so small that Louis has to pay extra close attention as he goes to make sure to blow it out before it burns his fingers. He keeps moving, dripping lines of wax over Harry’s stomach and watching his muscles roll beneath the skin. Harry’s erection stays strong, bobbing when he tenses, and Louis makes sure to keep the wax well away from it. 

He blows the candle out a little prematurely, and then leans across Harry’s body to kiss him. “Color?” he asks as he sucks on the bruise he’d made earlier on Harry’s throat. 

“Green,” Harry whimpers, tipping his head back to give Louis more access. He lifts his hips up, squeezing around the plug and trying to grind against him. The dried wax crackles across his abs. 

Louis gives him one last bite and then pins his hips down and sits back on his thighs. He lights another candle and, feeling more confident now, uses his free hand to teasingly stroke Harry’s erection while drizzling wax down over his butterfly tattoo. 

“Oh, fuck,” Harry curses, twisting in pain as Louis focuses all the drops of wax on that one small, sensitive spot. Louis rewards him with a soft lick on the head of his cock. 

“Does it hurt?” Louis asks with a smirk as he blows out what’s left of the second candle. “Can you feel the plug?” 

Harry lets out a weak groan and nods. Smirk growing, Louis picks up the remote control and presses the first button to turn on the vibrations. Harry’s hips immediately jump, almost knocking Louis off as the plug hums inside him.

“God, I wanna come,” Harry pleads, throwing his head back into the pillows. “Please can I come?” 

“Absolutely not,” Louis replies cheerfully, running his fingers up and down Harry’s shaft. Harry groans again, louder this time, and Louis lights a third candle and slides up higher to sit on Harry’s hips. 

“Stay still for me now, love,” Louis says, watching very carefully as he holds the candle over Harry’s chest and tips it. 

Harry’s yell is so loud when the wax hits his nipple that Louis briefly wonders if they’re going to get a noise complaint from another hotel guest. Then he remembers that he actually doesn’t give a shit, because Harry’s noises are his favorite noises, and he drips some more wax over the other nipple. 

Harry pants hard, the wax cracking as his chest heaves. Louis can hear the metal of the handcuffs grating against each other as Harry struggles to keep still against the pain. He rubs their erections together, a little for his own benefit too, and then carefully connects Harry’s swallow tattoos with a line of wax. Harry whines through his clenched teeth when the wax hits the love bite on one of the swallows that Louis had left before. 

Louis blows out the candle and looks over Harry carefully. The younger boy is breathing hard, his body rocking just slightly with the plug’s vibrations. There are splashes of hardened wax across his lower stomach and hips, a pool of it covering his butterfly, drops over his nipples that drip down his chest, and lines across his swallows and collarbones. The skin around the edges of all the wax is an angry red, his nipples puffy underneath it. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, and Harry’s glassy eyes slowly find his face.

Louis slides back to sit on Harry’s knees, and then he drops down to take Harry’s length in his mouth. Harry moans feebly as Louis sucks him hard, taking him right to the back of his throat. His head bobs quickly as he works, pinning Harry’s hips to the bed. He can hear the buzz of the vibrations inside him. 

Harry quickly starts gasping, jerking and trembling beneath Louis. “Can’t,” he chokes out. “Gonna—gonna come.” 

Louis keeps going, taking Harry so deep that he’s choking himself on it, and Harry actually believes he’s going to be allowed to come. Right when he’s about to go over the edge, Louis pulls off with a pop and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“No!” Harry sobs, trying to lift his hips again. Louis’s only response is to find the remote and turn the vibrations up to the next setting. Harry thrashes, knocking off flakes of wax. 

“Can you take a little more?” Louis asks, lifting up a fresh candle. Harry stares at him through teary eyes. “One more candle, and then I’ll let you come?” 

Harry finally nods, overwhelmed by the incessant vibrations torturing him. Louis beams with pride, and he lights the fourth candle, holding it over one of Harry’s thighs. He can feel Harry’s legs tense underneath him.

“My good boy,” Louis murmurs as he tilts it, holding the candle a little closer to Harry’s skin this time so the wax will be hotter. Harry lets out a strangled sound when the wax hits the center of his thigh and drips down the sides, and Louis can see his quad muscles clenching and unclenching rhythmically. He keeps saying comforting words as he goes, using the candle to coat both of Harry’s thighs from his hips to his knees before blowing it out. 

“Alright, babe,” he says soothingly, petting Harry’s trembling legs. “You did so well. You want to come now?” 

Harry hiccups a little, trying to hold in a sob, but then he shakes his head. “Want you to fuck me,” he whimpers. His cock is still painfully hard, unable to go down with the plug vibrating in his hole. 

Louis’s grin couldn’t possibly be any bigger as he helps Harry flip over onto his front. Harry’s stiff and shaky, his arms numb, but he settles onto his knees and chest with his ass in the air. Bits of wax fall onto the duvet. 

“Let’s get this out so I can fill you with something better,” Louis teases as he finally turns of the vibrations. He takes hold of the base of the plug and carefully works it out of Harry’s hole, listening to Harry grunt into the mattress. There’s no need to stretch him further once it’s out, so Louis just slicks up his own dick and lines up behind Harry. 

“Ready for me love?” he asks, and Harry simply moves his hips backward in response. Louis laughs, grabbing onto the chain of Harry’s cuffs for leverage with one hand and guiding his cock into Harry’s hole with the other. 

Harry lets out a long, low moan when Louis pushes in, the plug having loosened him up enough that Louis bottoms out quickly. Not wasting any time, Louis pulls back out and shoves back in, building a punishing rhythm that has Harry breathless. 

As Louis snaps his hips, smacking loudly against Harry’s ass, he keeps a firm grip on the handcuffs and reaches under Harry to find his cock. It’s so hard and hot, swinging heavily between his legs with Louis’s thrusts, and he wraps his fingers around it. 

“Fuck!” Harry cries, voice muffled. His skin is still stinging a little under the dried wax, his arms ache in the cuffs, and all the blood is rushing to his head in this position, but none of that compares to how badly he wants to come. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he knows that this sex is part of Louis’s birthday present, and so he’ll take whatever Louis gives him. 

“Being so good for me, feel so good,” Louis gushes, overwhelmed with his own pleasure as he fucks Harry into the mattress. He keeps his fingers in a loose ring around Harry’s cock, not giving him nearly enough friction to come. 

Louis can’t last long, and he doesn’t want to. He’d spent the last forty-eight hours pining for Harry, and now he’s buried inside the boy. When his orgasm starts to peak, he pulls hard on Harry’s handcuffs, wrenching the boy’s entire body back against him as he pounds in and out of him, chasing his own pleasure. Harry doesn’t complain even as pain rips through his shoulders, feeling Louis’s hips stutter as he spills his load deep inside him.

Harry drops back onto the bed gracelessly when Louis lets him go, and he’s surprised to feel something pushing against his hole already. Letting out startled sound, he turns his head over his shoulder to see Louis working the plug back into him. 

“Gonna keep me inside you all night, babe,” Louis says, sounding dirtier than Harry’s ever heard him. Harry buries his face in the duvet as the plug finally breaches him; he’s exhausted and still without orgasm but feeling very pleased with himself for making Louis so happy. 

Once the plug is in place, Louis gets the handcuff keys off the bedside table and unlocks Harry’s wrists. He helps Harry flip over onto his back, admiring what’s left of the wax for a moment before lowering his mouth to Harry’s erection. 

“Fuck my mouth,” he demands. “However you want it.” 

Harry’s not going to argue with that. Even though his arms feel like lead, he grabs two fistfuls of Louis’s hair and forces his head down, impaling him on his cock. He moves him up and down, and Louis eagerly sucks him, but after a while Harry just holds his head still and thrusts his hips up. 

He can feel Louis’s throat working around him, trying to swallow and not gag, spit running down his shaft. Louis sounds so filthy and it feels so good and Harry’s been on edge for so long that it’s only a few minutes before he’s coming, clenching painfully hard around the plug and shooting his seed in Louis’s mouth. 

He doesn’t let go of Louis’s hair, keeping his spent cock in deep and making Louis struggle to swallow down his seed around it. The sensation around Harry’s oversensitive head makes him tremble, but he loves it. Finally, he pulls Louis off. 

Louis splutters a little, still swallowing, using a corner of the duvet to wipe his face off. When he’s composed himself a bit, he looks down at Harry with a broad smile. Harry smiles dazedly back up at him. 

“You were so good for me. Thank you,” Louis whispers hoarsely, crawling over Harry’s body to kiss him. Harry can taste himself on Louis’s tongue, but he doesn’t mind. 

“Love you,” Harry mumbles.

“Love you more. Now, let’s get this wax off so you can sleep.” 

He kneels on the bed beside Harry and starts carefully picking and peeling off the dried wax. Harry’s too tired to react much, even though it’s an uncomfortable sensation, but the wax comes off easily enough with all the lotion Louis used. It sticks to the line of hair down the middle of his stomach the worst. 

“M’sorry, babe, just your nipples left,” Louis murmurs. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, and Louis gently picks the hardened shell of wax off of both his nipples. 

Just like before, the anticipation was worse than the pain, Harry thinks, and he deflates when it’s over. Louis covers his limp body with kisses, paying special attention to the reddest spots on his skin and his swollen nipples, thumbing over the bruises on Harry’s collarbone and throat appreciatively. 

“I love you so much,” Louis says again. “Thank you for tonight. And for everything.”

“You’re welcome, Lou.” Harry’s voice is hardly more than a whisper, his eyelids drooping. There’s not much to clean up, since Louis’s come is safely trapped inside Harry’s body and Louis had swallowed down all of Harry’s, but they’re lying on top of the duvet. He coaxes Harry off of it just long enough so he can shake it out, sending what’s left of the candles scattering onto the floor, and then he covers both their bodies with it. Harry quickly snuggles up to Louis’s side, tucking his head under his arm and against his chest. 

“Can I take the plug out now?” he mumbles without opening his eyes. 

Louis laughs, stroking Harry’s hair. “I meant it when I said it was staying in all night,” he says. “Would you like me to turn it on all night too?” 

Harry bites Louis’s chest in answer, and Louis laughs again. 

As the younger boy drifts off to sleep tucked tight against him, Louis gazes around the hotel suite. The lights on the Christmas tree are still on, and Louis is struck again by just how much Harry had done tonight to surprise him. He had somehow acquired and decorated an entire tree, bought and wrapped presents with thought-out meaning behind every single one, baked a beautiful and delicious cake, gotten Alberto involved, and then given himself up, body and soul, for Louis in bed. 

Louis’s throat burns with a sudden urge to cry, and he kisses the top of Harry’s head. He vows then and there to never let anything come between them again like it had this past month. No matter what women get thrown on his arm for publicity stunts, no matter what hoops they’re forced to jump through, no matter what—he has everything he needs behind closed doors and the promise of, one day, a future with Harry where they can walk down the street holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try and hang out on http://ropewithnoanchor.tumblr.com as much as I can, so drop by and say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to help me promote this fic (which would be totally awesome), please reblog [this](http://ropewithnoanchor.tumblr.com/post/112472076736/louis-is-struggling-with-panic-attacks-brought-on) post!


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